


Peter Parker turns into a spider.

by Leftleg, NojoTurbo



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Doctor Strange (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: ((and he gets one)), ;), Bruce and Thor are soft and roommates and I love them, But she still came in clutch what a queen, Clea and Stephen are like divorced in this oof, Dont read if youre arachnophobic this will fuck you up, Family Dynamics, Fix-It, Fluff and Mush, Giant Spiders, M/M, Magical Accidents, No im not kidding, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Slow transformation sequence, Stephen and Tony are engaged, Suspension Of Disbelief, Tony Stark Can Cook, Vomiting, Whump, arachnid behavior, im sorry, mix between mcu and comics, shh youll see, very mushy, what a miracle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leftleg/pseuds/Leftleg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NojoTurbo/pseuds/NojoTurbo
Summary: _____After a mishap with a spell, Peter Parker begins undergoing an unexpected change: he's turning into a spider.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory 'i don't feel so good' joke  
> [I'm revising this! Yay!]

Peter had gotten suspended.

Well, it was more of an ‘in school suspension’, but it was a suspension nonetheless.

This was his third one, meaning that he was to expect a speedy call home and a parent-principal meeting in the very near future as well as an extended out of school suspension that could weigh from seven to ten days. Considering he had, oh you know, _released a horde of both incredibly large and frightening insects around his school and forced it to go into quarantine ,_ he was probably going to get the big ‘E’- expulsion. He had been suspended before, but he never gotten expelled. The thought made him shudder in fear.

Stephen towered above him, arms crossed over his chest, leather shoes tapping the ground in contemplative scolding. He was dressed in casual wear today, but still looked fresh and primp as ever- button up shirt, slacks and shining penny loafers, with a dark trench-coat draped on his shoulders and the frown of superiority. Plus, he also had a black eyepatch covering his left eye, which somehow made the frown somewhat worse.

Due to the school having to undergo a sudden (yet very much needed) quarantine, they were called to see him at his home, so they sat waiting in a tense silence outside the room, waiting for the man to call them in. Peter sat with his head hanging low, staring keenly at the bright shine of the wood flooring. He didn't look at Stephen, that was a big no. When Stephen was mad, the very last thing you'd want to do is look him square in the face. He heard him clear his throat.

“Peter, a word.”

He raised his eyes then darted them quickly to avoid eye contact, “Sir?”

“Peter, what have you done?” He groaned, shaking his head, “You’ve single handedly caused your school to close down until they somehow get the place under control. Peter, you- _how_ did you even-?” He sounded tired, fed up already with the meeting and Peter's excuses. When Peter dropped his head lower, Stephen continued, “Nevermind, don't say a word. I don’t have the patience, and I am positive this is due to some magic so just know that when we get home, you are banned from the sanctum library until further notice.” at that, Peter lifted his head to protest, but a firm finger stopped him, “Not a word, Spiderling. You’ll need them later when you’re explaining to your father why you’ll be at home for the next week or so.” He huffed disappointedly and as if on cue, the door handle turned with a clink, and the door opened to reveal the stout, stern-faced Principal Sucress.

Peter immediately stood from the floor, standing next to Stephen as Sucress looked between them, a confused expression on his face. He had seen Stephen before when he had come to the last school bake sale (in which Peter had accidentally baked a batch of brownies with the remains of the deceased Dormoniah the XV, of which possessed the children), but he had never met the man. The last he had seen him, Stephen came, left, and was never seen again. Still, he extended a hand towards him, but Stephen refused it with a tight lipped smile and a quick wave.

“I'd shake your hand, but I'm afraid,” he pointed to his patched eye, “there's been a bit of an accident involving things you'd rather not touch.”

The principal drew back his hand quickly, afraid of whatever strange thing it was that he was warned about. He then looked at the hand with questioning eyes and instead of a handshake, he gave an awkward nod.

“Dr. Strange.”

“Principal Sucress.”

“Welcome...to my home.” He noticed Peter off to the side, and the corners of his _inviting_ smile dropped, "and _Mr. Parker-_ how...pleasant to see you.”

“You too, Mr. Sucress, sir.” Peter mumbled apologetically, “I’m sorry, Sir.”

Sucress ignored the apology, diverting the conversation, speaking as if Stephen wasn’t waiting for him to invite him inside.

“Mr. Parker, you do realize that I called for your _legal_ guardian for this meeting. Such as... Mr. Stark or your aunt.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek.

"Oh, uh, well- Aunt May is- she’s not-”

“She’s at home, resting, and Anthony isn’t available right now. He's off on a business trip at the moment. I am, indeed, all you have at this time.” Stephen interjected before Peter could reveal Tony’s actual whereabouts. The less the lay-public really knew about Anthony Stark’s extraterrestrial business affairs, the better for their chances in court. “Can we hurry this along?”

Sucress’s lips pressed together into a thin, thinking line. He let the conversation come to a close and invited the doctor inside his messy office, leaving Peter stranded and lonely in the hallway. Inside, Sucress instructed the doctor to have a seat in the chair across from his desk as he meandered around his crowded workspace. He sat down with a huff, tapping his fat fingers on the wooden desk.

“So, mister-”

“Doctor. Strange."

“ _Doctor._ I recall calling Mr. Stark and asking for him to come to this meeting, but from what you have told me, I’ll assume he, or young Mr. Parker, relayed the message to you.”

“You assume correctly.”

“Well,” He trailed with a shrug, “at least he’s in the hands of a proper adult. May is never available due to age and, well,Mr. Stark is also unavailable due to work. A shame, really. Makes you wonder what it’s like at home.” He wrote something down on a sticky pad, “What is your relation to him, Doctor? Just to make this look official on the reports.”

“I’m his parent.” This took Sucress by surprise.

“ _Parent?_ Sir, the boy has _no_ parents.” Sucress laughed, “That thing Stark does is anything _but_ being a parent.”

That stung.

“I’ll have you know that he does. It’s Stark and myself. Write that.”

“Of course but-”

“But what?”

“Well, don’t you think it’s upsetting that this _obviously_ troubled child is being tossed around from adult to adult? Guardian to guardian-” He shook his head. “ Surrounded by people who say they can care for him- May, I believed, for the obvious, but _Stark?_ ” He scoffed low, “Judging by your reaction to me asking why he was unreachable, it seems that he’s what- always on a trip? Or simply no longer involved? Not surprising. Stark is a playboy to heart, why would it be any different with a child?”, he said it with a weak smirk, annoyed, he dropped the pen on the desk.

Outside, Peter was pressed against the office door, listening and hearing every word and sound, and cringed at the discussion of his adult influences. Sure, they were all usually busy and whatnot, but they still found time for him and took care of him when they could. Perhaps the way he acted made it seem that they were never around and didn’t care about him- he did rack up on detention and tardy slips, as well as suspensions. He bit his lip, this was his fault. It was always his fault. Behind the door, Stephen cleared his throat.

“I admire the gall of a stranger to have an opinion on a student's family life. It's commendable, really, but, I’m sure Peter’s guardianship is not the reason for this meeting. Nor is the integrity of Tony, myself,  and anyother adult that cares for him. I suggest we get back on track with the meeting, we are both very busy people.”

“You’re right. I apologize, I’m just rambling on, Mr. Strange.”

“ _Doctor._ ”

“Doctor, yes, my apologies.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, aggravated. Stephen crossed his arms and glanced at the door, on the other side of which Peter was slouched, looking anxious as all hell.

“So, something about my son having contraband?” He finally said, bringing them officially back on topic. The principal, as if remembering exactly why the other was sitting in his office, raised his eyebrows in thought, then pulled his desk drawer, fishing inside for the teacher’s report.

“Yeah, that’s right- Mister-”

“Doctor.”

“ _Doctor_ Strange, we have reason to believe Peter brought contraband into the school and, firmly believe that he is the sole cause for our sudden closure.”

“I know that. But how are you sure that it was _my_ son who did this? What type of contraband could do that?”

“Well, something that may be considered a... _spellbook._ "

When he found the report, he pulled it and the thing it was taped to, out of his desk drawer. The report was taped to a large, thick book, one that was covered in bulky leather bindings and gold finishes that shined when the sun hit them. Dust wafted from it, and if one listened well enough, they could hear a slight hiss from it.

Peter slunk low on the door. If he wasn’t in the deep end before, he was about to be in it soon. He wanted to pull the collar of his turtleneck over his face and disappear.

Stephen was surprised at the sight of the book. He blinked, staggered to see the thing on the desk. He wondered how the teen could even lug it to school without he or Wong noticing it was gone. He sucked in a breath, holding the heavy book in his hands.

“And how do you know that it’s a _real_ spellbook? My son is a fan of...wizards and the like. It could very well be a little Harry Potter book that the kids like to read these days.”

"Doctor,” he pulled a tight smile, reading over the teacher’s note, “when your son was asked to read aloud what exactly he was so adamantly reading during class time, the passage he read was the cause for large insects to suddenly appear in the classroom. Not only that, but insects appeared all over: in the locker rooms, the gym, the bathrooms-,” He folded his hands, “we’ll have to close the school for about two weeks until they get all the creatures out.”

Stephen gulped but couldn't help the slight smile that twitched on his lips. He felt a slight pride in the fact that Peter, a non magic user, could convey a spell so well. There were many things that went into account with spellcasting- emotion, intention, and the like- and the fact that Peter managed to successfully caste during class meant that the boy really performed it.

Hell, if he was going to do it at all, he might as well have done it right.  
“Okay, that does sound... _terrible_ , but is the Ninik Book of Spells really considered contraband?"  
Sucress was now the one losing patience, pointedly, he spoke: “Sir, I do not know what _strangeness_ it is that seems to drip from Parker and the rest of your _‘family’_ to the point that you don’t immediately understand this: the whole book is contraband!"

This shout made both Stephen and Peter jump with shock. The man across from him pushed the heavy book over the desk to Stephen, the note still stuck to it, then retreated his hands quickly as if the old thing would bite him. Stephen dropped the book under his chair, some slight of hand magic dropped the book onto Wong's desk.

Sucress continued speaking.

“I’ll have you know that I've been on this planet for fifty-eight years now- I have seen alien ships materialize before my eyes,  norse gods doing beer commercials, and men in spandex shooting webs all over the city! Doctor, I am no fool! The concept of witchery and spells is not lost on me in this day and age, do not play me for an idiot. I don't know where he managed to aquire that _thing_ , but it is indeed _contraband,_ and Peter will be punished to the full extent of the school board's law and maybe even district law!" Sucress sat back in his seat, he had begun to sweat out of anger, and dabbed his forehead and neck with a rag at the corner of his desk.

"This is not the only account of Peter getting a write-up. Did you know that he’s gotten _twelve_ in-school suspensions within the last two months? That he’s been suspended _out_ of school three times?” The principal leaned forward, his fat fingers locked together as he stared deep into the shading green of Stephen's eye, “Doctor, your son _,_ your _ward_ , has been on probation for the last month. He has been warned countless times that any more discretionaries, and he will be ex-”

Peter’s eyes went wide. His stomach grumbled and began to churn. His abdomen cramped and he began to sweat. There was a foreboding taste of acid in the back of his throat and his senses did more than tingle- they _spiked_ _._ He quickly threw his hand to the doorknob behind him, missing at first and slapping the wooden door with an open palm. He patted the wood frantically, searching for the knob. Inside, the sound of Peter’s hand smacking against the wood, made the adults jump up, and the erratic twisting of the knob was sure sign that there was an issue.

Peter grabbed the knob and used it for leverage to stand, his legs were weak and the sweat on his hands made them slip on the metal. He used his weight to twist the knob and push the door open, where he stumbled in and into the arms of Strange.

“Oh no…” He grumbled. Peter was suddenly sick to his toes, turning a nasty pale that bordered green. He slouched forward, his stomach bubbling and turning. First, he figured it was the anxiety of expulsion- he never took too well to these types of things, and right now, he was about to turn over into a grave and rot.

Soon he felt worse, this sickness not at all like one of an attack. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut. He was going to vomit right there if he weren’t careful. A heavy hand went to his back, then his shoulder. Stephen was asking in a low voice if he was okay, if he had eaten anything bad or whatnot, but the shudder and the sweat that formed on his forehead and ran down his face, made it clear that Peter was in no talking mood, barely able to open his mouth to breath let alone relay what he ate for lunch.

“Doc-doc, I don’t feel so good…”

Stephen didn’t like that. He held him up with his arms to keep the teen from crumbling into a mess of sickness on the floor. As he tried to maneuver the boy back to the door, stumbling as he held him close, yet at a distance to keep from getting whatever it was that suddenly affected the boy. He twisted his head towards the principal, who had gotten up from his seat, hands on the desk and ready to assist in anyway.

“I think this meeting is at an end, Sir. My _ward_ seems to be sick-”

Just then Peter lurched forward with a violent pull, a gutteral sound springing forth, followed by the heavy sound of Peter’s thick vomit hitting the ground. Another round came, falling to the ground and splashing over the wood. Peter coughed and choked, lurching and dry heaving. His throat burned and a fist sized knot formed in his chest. He tried not to look at the mess on the ground, but he couldn’t help it- the puddle of emeto was a nasty, yellow-green, with chunks of peaches and mandarin oranges settled in it. The consistency was nothing short of a spilled ice cream with most of it being liquid and sections being stuck in the limbo of a melted solid. The smell was rancid and made his eyes water, the acid that came up from his stomach had burned his throat and he could taste the spit up in his mouth. It was enough to make his stomach fold and his body lurch again. His vision blurred from the tears, and something began to tickle in his throat. It was like strands of hair were coming up from the depths of his chest, but it was somehow worse. The hairs were moving, scuttling up the inside of his throat.

He grabbed at his neck, his eyes wide, and coughed. Puffed his cheeks, coughed again. He swallowed but choked on spit. The adults were staring at him now, unsure if he was going to throw up something else or choke to death.

“Peter are you-”

“I-”

Peter stiffled a burp, but riding along that burp were the hairs. This time, the presence of whatever it was inside was clear now as it _stepped_ onto his tongue, the body of it dragging out from the opening of his throat. Then came the smaller, quicker legs and bodies, filling his mouth with their bodies. He tried to keep his mouth shut, afraid that what it was that was inside his mouth was what he thought it was.

The pointed, hairy tips of the legs prodded at his lips as the flow didn’t stop. Unable to keep his lips closed any longer with the growing horde within his mouth, out from his lips came the long, velvety black legs of a large spider. First came the front legs and a few of the smaller arachnids ran out and down his neck and clothes, some fell to the floor onto their backs and wiggled their little legs to get upright again.

The large arachnid still pulled it’s way out of him, it’s long, thick, sticklike legs finding purchase on the folds of his clothes, slipping on the sweat soaked, saliva slick t-shirt, frantically throwing their exposed legs in the air as it forced Peter’s mouth to open to accommodate its size as it pulled and surged forward. It managed to pull forth it’s head, it’s multitude of beady eyes staring out and blinking at the new light.

More of the smaller ones crawled out, and Peter’s throat clenched and contracted painfully. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak- his heart pounded hard in his chest, so hard that the thuds could be seen from the outside. He was sweating profusely out of fear, and tears were rolling down his stretched and pained cheeks. The spider inside was pulling its way out, the thick of the abdomen was too much to get pass his lips, his mouth too small to pass the large body. The spider hissed and screeched, flailing its legs and shaking. The principal at his desk gasped and slunk behind his chair, his eyes were darting from Peter’s mouth to the mess on the floor, to the tiny black spots scurrying. He looked to a horrified Stephen- who still had his arms wrapped around the teen’s body, not sure what to do - he didn't want to let him go, but he also needed to let him go and let the kid sink to his knees and figure out the magic needed to fix this.

With a reluctance, he let Peter go, and the younger stumbled forward to his knees, clutching and clawing at the raw skin of his neck. The spider screamed, flailed, and Stephen saw no other option than to drag some magic into his hand, and slap the sick boy hard on the back. It seemed to work as the spider shrieked and pulled back into the boy's mouth, and seemingly back down his throat. Peter heaved, a dry cough coming out in a powerful jolt that thrusted him forward.

Everything went silent save for the labored breathing of the distressed teen and the confused, wide eyed adults. The principal coughed, stepping lightly to avoid crushing the small spiders that ran around and crawled onto the desk and the cabinets.

“Doctor,” he cautiously eased up to Stephen, eyeing Peter's hunched back from behind the shaking man, “have you...and the family ever considered, I don't know, homeschooling little Peter here?”

Stephen gave the man a look, but said nothing. The two of them brought Peter down to the first floor of the apartment building, and Sucress left them to their devices which really just meant that Stephen was free to open a portal to the Sanctum and usher Peter through it without prying eyes and questioning stares.

Well, save for one stare.

Wong looked down at the poor sight of Spiderman on the Sanctum floor, then looked up at Stephen while he chewed his sandwich. He motioned at the slumped body.

“How was the meeting?”

“It was lovely, thank you, Wong.” He responded with a bite, Wong sighed.

“What happened? He looks green.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. For now, we need to get him to bed.”

It took them maybe, twenty minutes, to get him up the stairs and into a bed. He was burning up, getting hotter by the minute and was going limper by the second. When he dropped onto the cool bed, Peter went straight to sleep, not even taking the time to give a quip or a thanks. Stephen and Wong watched him for a second, unsure of whether or not to cover him or leave him be as he was getting redder as the seconds passed by. Wong reached out a hand to Peter’s forehead and jerked it back, feeling the heat.

“He’s got a fever. A bad one.”

“I figured that.”

“I’ll get some water and something to bring it down.”

“Also, uh, we need a bucket.”

“Why?”

“He- vomited.”

“Okay: bucket, water, Pepto.”

When Wong left them, Stephen looked down at the sleeping boy, his face shining with sweat and his face a deep red from the fever. Still, he slept peacefully, otherwise unperturbed by jolts of coughs and dry heaves. He cautiously sat on the bed next to him, and put his hand on the boy’s head, feeling the heat seep into his hand as well as the slickness of the sweat. He'd have to call Tony at some point to tell him the news, but for the moment, he stroked Peter's wet hair and head, scratching behind his ears and patting his hair. The boy stirred at the touch, his lip twitched at the corner.

Peter was relaxed, the taste of sickness and the heat of his fever didn't let up, but at least he was cool and comfortable, the caressing touch on his head by Stephen's shaking, rough hand was something he found himself about to melt into.

Before he could fall into a deeper slumber, his hairs stood up and he flipped to his side, throwing up again over the edge of the bed, directly onto the floor. Stephen jumped up to avoid the splatter as Peter released nothing but pure acid and siderlings that hit the ground and ran.

When the wave was done, Peter curled himself under the blanket and shivered from a hard chill that rocked him. His head began to throb and his throat was sore.

He was also back to being miserable.

Stephen was ready to rush back to his side, except for one very minor issue: the area that Peter had vomited on began to sizzle and smoke, sinking and melting because of the acid. That wasn't good. Peter's stomach acid was corrosive, which was bad because people don't just throw up highly corrosive liquids without burning something on the way.

“Sorry…” he apologized, his voice a whisper and hoarse. The kid looked even worse than before: he was paler, the skin around his eyes were red and puffed, that in account with the high fever, sweaty face and messy hair, Peter looked just as healthy as a dead man. He shivered again, pulling on the plush blanket. Peter blinked tiredly and Stephen worked his way around the mess to get back, sitting at the other side of the bed. Peter weakly wrapped his arms around his waist and dropped his head into his lap. He brushed his hair with his hand, the boy sighed.

“What's wrong?”

“Other than the obvious?”

“Preferably.”

“I miss dad.”

“I do too.”

“But you can see him whenever you want.”

“Not really, but even if I could, I wouldn't. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

It took them three days to figure out what happened to Peter. After three days of acid and spider vomiting, cold sweats, and fevers- Wong had helped him figure out what really happened.

According to him, Peter somehow disrespected the Ninik, causing the book to in turn unleash a curse on him. The extent of the curse was unknown, perhaps it was just the vomiting, but since books often had their own personalities, the Ninik could've very well set a time bomb within the boy. Wong had managed to conjure something to counter the spell- whether it fully worked or not, they didn't know, so they had to wait and see.

* * *

 Peter suddenly felt much better, as if he weren’t just vomiting highly acidic stomach acid (and by highly acidic, that means _highly_ acidic) and spiderlings just days before. Wong's medication at first seemed to have worked, because two days passed, and Peter was up first thing in the morning, exploring the Sanctum in his pajamas. Really, he was looking for a shower to wash but had gotten himself lost. He entered spotted a large door and walked through it in hopes that it'd take him where he wanted to go. Instead, inside was Stephen organizing books. He didn't go in at first, and stayed silent, not wanting to distract him.

Stephen noticed Peter, but finished putting up what he had in his hands. It was Saturday morning, and he was doing his standard housekeeping- reorganizing the multitudes of spell books and mythical encyclopedias in the library. It was the early, the sun barely shining through the overhead window and the sounds that filled the building were that of the city waking below. In this morning city silence, Stephen was placing up two books on the shelf, making sure that they matched properly, when he reached down to pick up another set to dust off and replace, the gentle tapping of fingers behind him made him turn, and there Peter stood, dressed in his pyjamas and shyly watching him from the doorway. He closed the large book in his hands and put it under his arm, wondering how the boy who was sweating like he was melting just days before was now standing before him as if nothing happened. Perhaps the treatment worked.

“Good morning, Peter.”

“Mornin’, Doc.”

“Why are you out of bed? Firstly, it’s much too early, second, you were just battling a fever. You shouldn’t be up right now.”

Peter smiled meekly, “I feel fine. I smell, but I feel alright. That gross stuff worked."

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, his messy hair flying with the motion. Stephen was skeptical but shrugged. He supposed that curing with magic was sometimes like treating with light medicine and time- upset stomach? Give a dose of pink bismuth and let them throw it up. Plagued by spiders and highly acidic stomach acid? Give them the Tonic of Arachne and a little something to help the bicarbonate to keep from burning a hole in their insides.

Stephen went back to organizing, allowing Peter to creep into the room and look around. He noted the paintings on the wall, how most were of sceneries and buildings, and gently spun a miniature globe that sat on a paper covered desk, dragging his nail over the ridges and lines of Eurasia.

Then, there was a buzzing. It was the buzz of a fly outside the window, dumbly tapping against the hard glass. They both could hear it loud and clear, but Peter more so with his heightened hearing. It was unbelievably distracting, aggravating the teen who couldn’t help but dart his eyes from the Huang He to the dark spec at the glass.

“Doctor,” he said distracted, still playing with the river with the tip of his sharpened fingernail, eyes staring intently at the fly. The doctor hummed in response, replacing a misplaced book with another that fit in the spot. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s a kitchen.”

“No, I-I don’t want that.”

“What do you-" He looked to where Peter was looking, closing the book. It took him a hot minute to piece it together, but when he did, he shook his head and rushed over to the kid, dragging him from the window, "no, absolutely not. Come on, we’ll get something to eat. But you will not be craving insects. Not in this Sanctum."

And that was the first week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love May Parker, I do, I really do, but honey I need my Ironstrange family shit okay??  
> Anyway in this I used comic book May meaning two things: She's an old lady and she doesn't know her nephew is a superhero  
> In this, I have it so that Peter is about 15/16 and May is too old to care for him (she's still around tho, she lives in the tower too). Um, think of this dynamic as Tony got with Mary (Fitzpatrick) Parker and they had this little boy whom she took and raised with Richard and the like, hence why Peter has the last name 'Parker'. May and Tony have a good friendship and she knew about the extramarital stuff hence also how Tony has known Peter since he was a child etc.  
> Yes, Tony and Stephen are engaged and I love it so much. i just want Peter to have a father...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for mistakes, I just took my medication and I'm sleepy (also I'm using one hand a cell phone.)  
> If you see anything, let me know so I can fix it in the morning, I just wanted to get this out before I forgot about it (lol) I don't think I'm too proud of this chapter- I wanted to add in May so people wouldn't forget her, but also the rewriting so that both of the chapters I wrote came together as one was difficult to handle so if you see some shit, underline it and give me a score.  
> This one is also a bit rushed and short so ew right?

A week since his sickness and cure, Peter was beginning to change on the outside, undergoing a sort of  “puberty”, as he called it mentally. He had all the time in the world to notice the nuances of his body because it was _"Christmas break"_ (a technicality due to the much too premature closing), and school was still in remission from the little spell escapade of which Tony had heard about and agreed to put the teen on an intense punishment that Peter didn't even protest. He saw that he was wrong for taking the book, and he was wrong for saying the spell and releasing mutated bugs into his school. He was wrong and he was sorry.

But during his punishment, Peter was doomed to lone time. He was on chore duty out the wazoo and spent unimaginable amounts of time stuck in his brain. The thing about that though, when you're stuck in isolation and only have yourself, is that you start noticing what you've never noticed before.

At first, Peter was excited by his reflection in the mirror, from his chin sprouted dark hairs that were thick and short. His legs were much hairier than they had been a week ago, and he seemed to be stickier, his fingertips catching quickly and more firmly on the walls and glass without his suit.  He was more flexible and brawny too, something that many looked at quizzically, wondering when the young man turned into a man. Peter was growing up quickly within his solitude, and he wondered if there was some science that went with physically growing when alone. He'd have to ask Banner about that type of stuff.

May was the second to notice this change in her young nephew, and when she had, the poor woman nearly had a heart attack.

Now the role of Aunt May was simple: she meandered around the estate, doing her daily rounds around the tower and picking up whatever Tony or Peter failed to do. She cooked, she cleaned, and even (despite protests from Tony and Peter) took on matters that related to the other heroes and the like. May Parker had come to live in the tower after a series of both fortunate and unfortunate events, starting with the most important and often confusing- she was the original caretaker of her nephew when Mary and Richard died, and for the years she had him under her care, she raised him up like he was her own and also through these years of raising Peter, she was also in contact with the very man she shared a roof with- Anthony Stark.

At first May was wary of the man who seemed all too much interested in her brother-in-law’s wife all those years  (for good reason, as it turned out), but still, he worked his charms on her as well and eventually, May herself was an ally of the man.

Now while she had a mild friendship with Anthony, she most certainly had a plethora of not so nice words to say on the subject of the two and their eventual affair (also along with these words was about maybe a year or two year long cold-shoulder and end of  their friendship), she found after the birth of Peter and the constant peeking and prodding that Tony did to even catch a momentary glimpse of the child when Richard wasn’t around, their friendship reformed and solidified under something new: respect. Respect for a man who was notorious for playboy antics, dropping one and latching to another, who could’ve easily been gone and forgotten yet chose to stay and be a part of a life he created, well, May had no other choice than to let him back in.

Eventually, when Mary and Richard had business to attend to and she and Ben were left to take care of their son,  May began to live a pseudo double life- one that involved her, Tony and a young Peter, and another that featured Ben, Mary, and the rest of the family.

When she thought on all of it- all the hushed arguments between her and Ben on whether or not letting the child’s real father inset himself while the appointed paternal figure was in the dark, of all the sweet little moments that they experienced when they saw how much Tony really loved the child, and the eventual fall of it all with the death of Mary and Richard, when things got dark and gloomy and even the thought of letting anyone in was hard but- when she thought about it, May found that it all was worth it in some way. The fact that Peter was not completely parentless and wouldn’t be alone when her time came, that was why it was really worth all the backyard dealings, all the secrecy and strain.

The family was still together, Peter was thriving, Tony was becoming a better person by the day, and at the end of it all, she could rest easy and relax when it came to her family, even if Tony was always blasting off somewhere and Peter was being secretive with her.

Her role in the family was simple: she was a wise figure, an old lady who did what she could around the house before Tony could try and sit her down. She was a grandmother, a mother, an aunt- all of it and more.

Which leads to an issue in the second week of Peter’s... _transformation_ . You see, after a week of Peter simply _growing_ , came a week where Peter began to act much differently than before. It wasn't just the physical parts of Peter that took a change, it was also his habits and ways that too shifted gears- when he felt threatened, he hissed, his senses much more accurate and quicker than before, he began to prefer sleeping in a web hammock than in his bed, which later evolved into an actual web that was the length of his room.

 Speaking of the web, that brings us back to dear Aunt May.

One day, after Peter was finished with his chores for the day and resting in his room, she decided that she wanted to spend some time with her nephew. Ever since the last week when he got sick and over the few days from the day Stephen brought him home in one piece, Peter seemed to have grown before her very eyes. He was taller than the weeks before, and his voice was considerably deeper. Even on his chin, she noticed that the blonde hairs that lined all over his ski, turned into brown curls. Her little nephew was a man now! It made her tear up at the thought, and she tried to hold firm when she knocked on his bedroom door before walking in and seeing him sleeping in the center of a large, man-sized spider web.

The center of the web was right above his bed, the corners of it connected to each corner of the room, and was detailed seemingly by Peter’s own crafty hands (which it was, as FRIDAY’s footage would later show). The web was strong and surprisingly comfortable, but May wasn’t thinking about the details about the web.

“ _Peter?”_ She gasped, and the resting teen jolted suddenly, his arms and legs flailing on the web’s sticky lines.

Before he knew it, she fainted at the sight before her, the sound of her hitting the ground sprung him to alertness, and he struggled out the sticky net and panicked over the elderly woman. He lifted her from the ground and looked around for any witnesses. He didn’t know what to do with her body,  so he did what he figured he should do: nervously, he hoisted her up into his arms and snuck her back to her own bedroom, creeping into her the room, and laying her onto the bed before leaving the room quietly, hoping that when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember the scene.

May didn't know that Peter was Spider-Man, which meant that Peter had no reason to have a huge ass spider web in the center of his room. If she woke up remembering the web, then he’d have to either lie or let it loose, both of which he felt would probably put her in shock.

Thankfully, when she woke up minutes later, May had figured that the web was a strange dream and left Peter to himself until dinner, where she started the night’s conversation with telling the dining family (which included the rare guests Wong, Stephen, and Pepper) about the weird “spider web” dream over an experimental dinner that Tony had whipped up, granting the knowing diners to throw each other awkward looks across the dinner table while nervously laughing about the strangeness of such dreams.

During that same dinner, Peter felt nauseous, picking at his food with his fork. He didn’t feel hungry in the slightest, and excused himself from the dinner table with a sorrowful nod, feeling the worried eyes of Tony and Stephen on his back as he made his way to the bathroom, where he slumped next to the toilet. He had forgotten what vomiting felt like after not having to do it for a while, and the feeling of groggy, lukewarm water in his stomach made him so miserable, he wanted to cry.

Peter didn’t throw up that night on his own, but with the help of a toothbrush, he managed to cough up two web covered sacs into the bowl, which he stared at, then flushed down the toilet.

Something told him he wasn’t getting better.

* * *

 The first time Peter did it, it was maybe a day or so after the web. Peter was at  home, sitting with his knees to his chest on the couch and reading a packet with a bowl of red grapes sitting on the glass coffee table before him, his school supplies littered around it. Tony was sitting in a side chair, reading a news article and drinking his coffee, taking small glances at the studying boy. He had gotten off his “trip”  as soon as he heard that Peter was sick, he packed up and left.

Now they were silently doing their own thing. He watched his son for any signs of a cough or a sneeze. Stephen didn't say exactly what was wrong with him, just that he was throwing up and had a high fever. When he came home, that was what he expected to see, but it turned out that Peter was just fine. He went back to his paper.

Peter picked up a grape, brought it to his lips, and sucked out the squishy insides of the fruit, then dropping the wet casing into the bowl. He turned the page, reading the next passage on the revolution, and picking up another grape from the bowl. This one was fat, large an just, and he brought it to his lips all the same, licking a spot on it first with the tip of his tongue and then sucking up the inside of that one as well. Tony had caught the motion out the top of his mug but didn't say anything. It was a weird way to eat grapes, but then again, the kid himself was weird.

He shrugged it off, and the morning commenced.

It wasn't until Peter had done this same strange eating pattern- licking then sucking out the insides and leaving the shell- with a whole orange, that it became an issue and a topic of question. Tony had seen him do it another day, while the boy was doing a math review on the same couch, in the same sitting position, staring down a particularly tricky trig question. He peeked over the edge of his mug, watching Peter slink a tanned hand to the table, his long fingers feeling around the glass surface for the plate of fruit. He grabbed the orange, brought it to his lips, and licked a small part of the outer rind before sinking his teeth into it and squeezing the bottom of the fruit and sucking up the insides, swallowing the pulp and juices with ease.  When he finished, he dropped the miniature fruit’s empty casing onto the plate and wiped the juice from his mouth with a napkin. Tony couldn't believe it, slurping down his coffee while eyeing the teen suspiciously. He didn't say anything though, trying to piece it in his brain that the kid really did that.

Tony had made a move ot ask him about.. _whatever_ it was that he just did, but the teen’s phone rang just as he took the mug from his lips. Peter took the phone and left the room with it pressed to his ear, leaving behind his homework and the plate of hollowed out fruit. Tony put his things down and moved towards the items, picking up the orange skin and checking inside the formed hole, into the inside where there was nothing but the chalky inner lining. He put it down, looking around with just the most intense confusion. How in God’s name did he do it?  

 Tony decided not to question him. Maybe Peter was just playing around with his food. You know, kids do that type of stuff.

He made a note to ask him about it, figuring that whenever Peter walked back into the front room, he’d hold it up and confront him. It was baffling and weird and Tony often appreciated those qualities, but not when they’re suddenly coming from his son.

Off in the bathroom, Peter was on the phone with Stephen whilst checking himself out in the bathroom mirror. He listened as the man rattled on with questions, asking if he had noticed anything stranger than normal. Peter turned them all down until Stephen began to ask very _personal_ questions.

“Peter, how is your hair?”

“What?”

“Your hair, Anansi, your hair.”

“What do you mean? Like-like if it’s falling out or something?”

“Precisely. If it’s falling out, growing faster, thinner, thicker, etcetera.”

Peter bit his lip, looking at the sharp strands of dark hair that stood up at attention on his chin.

“Yeah- my hair got thicker and darker.”

“Really…,” he could hear the other man thinking as well as the sound of a pen on paper. “And where is this hair growing?”

“Uh, my chin and my legs…”

“Anywhere else?”

“My-my,” He hunkered, speaking in a whisper into the phone, “my _tummy_.”

“Did you just say tum-nevermind. Describe this hair-how it’s different from before.”

And Peter did, describing how his hair is normally a very light color on his arms and legs and that he never had hair on his chin or stomach, and that the hairs seemingly grew over just a few hours- that the Saturday he recovered, the hair wasn’t there, nor was it there on Sunday or Monday when he went back to the tower. It was currently Tuesday afternoon, just days after it happened, and he had a fuzzed chin and dark strands of hair laying on his arms and stomach. Stephen hummed and scribbled on his end of the line.

“Peter, what else has happened? Any behavioral changes you’ve seen?”

"No, sir. Why? Should there be more or?"

Stephen inhaled a breath, looking over the checked boxes in the notebook that Wong had given him filled with symptoms and things that he found that many who had used the book before also experienced. 

Apparently, Peter was well on the track to being fully cursed. Yikes. 

“Anansi," he started slowly, "will you be busy in the next hour?”

“Uh, no, why?”

“We need to talk. It’s very important- think of it as a post-check-up, check-up.”

“O-okay, sure. I’ll meet you-"

"At the Sanctum. Come straight here when you get the chance. Actually, you know what , I'll tell you now: Peter you might very well be cursed.. "

"What? I-I got  _cursed_?!" His voice went loud,  and quickly he brought it back down to a whisper. In his surprise, he felt a twinge of unnatural rage, and with that surge of piqued blood, his face began to itch on a spot on his cheek. He scratched, pointedly he added, "you _never_ told me that." As he kept scratching his face,  he felt something build under his nails. As Stephen spoke, his voice began to drown out beneath the sound of his heartbeat in his ears when he saw what had built under his fingernails:  it was skin. His skin. 

Still not listening to the ramble, Peter frantically turned his face to the mirror, turning to reflect the cheek he was scratching- the skin was raw and red like he had grated it with a cheese grater, and small drops of blood began to surface. He looked back at his fingers. His nails were sharper than the last time he checked them some days ago. 

"Shit. Si mette male..." he mumbled, turning the faucet on to dampen a wad of tissue to place on his face. 

"Stay calm." Stephen tried reassuring, "we will  _not_ tell your father about this. Keep it secret because we don't know for certain, but according to the list that Wong gave me, you seem to be on the path of-"

"Of-of what, Doc?" He asked, wincing from the cold water. 

"Of turning into an insect. In your case: a spider."

"God, how did this happen?" He sat on the toilet,  the tissue pressed to his face. Stephen sighed. 

"The belief is still that you disrespected the Ninik. You didn't know this but Peter,  all magical artifacts: books, staffs, even clothing like the cloak have feelings and attitudes. They're like people,  in that way,  and you seemed to have hurt the Ninik's pride by using it for something so meaningless." After a moment of silence, he continued,  "Peter, don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this before it gets worse, okay? For now,  try watching yourself and take your own notes if anything new happens. Can you promise me that?"

"Y-yeah..."

After the call, Peter ran back to the living room, scooping up all his belongings and shoving them into his backpack. He wanted to barricade himself in his den and never leave. He had never been cursed before, and he hoped that he'd live his life without ever being cursed. It was all his fault and it made him frustrated, which made him unimaginably angry.

Before Tony could even get his question out, the teen swung his bag to his back and made quick moves towards the elevator to escape,  but Tony moved quicker, standing in front of him, plate in hand. 

"Where are you speeding off to, Underoos?"

Peter had to swallow down his anger,  but it was so hard! He breathed then spoke.

"Uh, nowhere! Just, um, I'm going to my room to do, uh, nothing but sleep! Yep, I'm gonna go take a nap because I got this massive headache out of nowhere!" 

He took a step forward, Tony moved with him. He looked him up and down, sizing up Peter while nonchalantly humming. He showed him the plate. 

"Peter, what happened here?"

"Uh, nothing, that's just how I eat." He stepped forward,  Tony moved again, blocking him. 

"Peter is there something you're not telling me?"

"N-no, sir."

He eyed him, "Peter, you know people don't eat like this, right?"

"Yes- it's uh, it's a new hobby of mine."

"A hobby?"

"Yeah-yes! I just kinda, bit a hole in it and scooped it out with my tongue, nothing special. Nothing spiderlike about it." Peter forced a smile, hoping that his dad would leave it alone so that he could go off and sleep or sulk. But he wasn't budging.

"Peter, what happened when you were sick?"

"Uh, I threw up a lot and I had fevers..."  
"Anything else? Anything weird about those things?"

"N-no. Not at all, I was just really sick all of the sudden. Probably anxiety, you know with the whole 'getting my school shut down because of magic' thing."

"Mhm. Okay. Peter, look me in the eyes and tell me the truth: why are you acting so different?"

The teen stared his father in the eyes, then dropped them to the ground, unable to keep up with the hardness behind them. He sighed.

"Okay, you caught me. I'm doing this because it's cool and I wanted to get better at that stuff so I could impress this girl."

"A girl? You're sucking the insides out of fruit for a girl?"

He nodded. 

"Then what's this about? The running and the rushing? Who called you?"

"It was Stephen- I mean Mr. Strange-I mean Dr. Strange! And he wanted to know if I'd be free for the mall later because we're totally only going shopping for gifts and stuff, and not doing a mock check-up or anything weird like that because I'm totally fine and we're going shopping."

"Repeat that, but I don't know, slower."

"Mr. Stephen wants to go to the mall and I guess I'm really excited to go because I think he's really cool."

Tony sighed, he didn't know what to think about it all, so he just, let it go, stepping out of Peter's way. 

Then he put up a hand, stopping him again.

"Wait...I thought you said you were readin a nap."

"Oh! Yeah. I am!" He tried to muster up a better explanation, "I'm gonna...nap first then go to the mall."

Mhm. You enjoy your day then...I guess."

"Why don't you come too? It'd be like a family outing thing." He tried suggesting, it was an attempt to thwart suspicion, Tony shook his head.

"No can do. I still have some business to work out that was put on hold when you caught your little stomach bug." Then he moved to the side, allowing Peter to move past him, but he caught a glimpse of Peter's cheek and he became worried again.

"Wait, what happened to your face?"

"Scratched a little too hard. No biggy."

"No, some biggy, Peter your face looks like Freddy Kruger was having a field day." He moved closer again to put his hands on his face to look at the damage closer, but Peter slipped away from him,  sidestepping and huffing.

"Dad, can I go take my nap? Please? We can do this later, I'm tired."

"Yeah..yeah sure, Pete. Sorry about your head..." He said, but Peter was already behind the closing doors of the elevator. When he got to his room, his web was still up and inviting as ever,  so he carefully crawled into it and lay on the supporting lines. He thought about his web, he thought about his body and the curse and not telling his dad or May that he was still sick and that he may be cursed. He turned to his side and the web swung but held firmly in place.  It was still the early afternoon, but he didn't feel up to enjoying any of it,  not after the phone call,  nor after the scratching- he just wanted to sleep like he said and sleep he did. 

When he woke up, it was around midnight and his stomach rumbled but he ignored the rolling inside. He felt hungry but he wasn't and he didn't want to risk the scenario of the rumble in his stomach to actually be the antsy feet of spiders. Instead,  he climbed off his web and went to his bathroom,  dropping his head into the sink and running hot water over his noggin until the heat became too much and he had to cut out it off to keep his brain from exploding.

He didn't know why he was doing this,  maybe it was shock? Maybe it was just the normal awkwardness of awaking from a long nap and not quite remembering who you were.  He didn't know and he didn't seek to find out. 

The rest of that night,  Peter found himself unable to sleep and settled for late night activities to keep from bouncing off the walls. He was drawing himself in his spider suit doing his regular crime stopping. He missed going out in his suit, but that was also part of his punishment- he couldn't hero.

He figured that was fine and continued drawing, and soon the drawings of Spider-Man turned to drawings of Peter Parker, then to an eventual drawing of Spider Peter- the eight eyes, the hair, the spider body... he didn't like it, didn't like how he easily managed to create himself as such a monster. It made him grimace and he took the page and slid it behind the front cover of a novel he had meant to read, then put his head on his desk, face turned towards the skyline of nighttime New York. 

This was the third week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hm

Another day, Stephen and Peter were training together while Tony watched from above, taking notes on the new suit's performance. Unsurprisingly, Peter was doing well dodging simulation bullets and utilizing the new tech of his suit, showing off his ability to shoot webs farther and jump higher and all that jazz until Stephen, deep in his thoughts about what to do exactly in regards to the upcoming Christmas day and what presents to get everyone (and how he was going to get them as well as what to do about Peter's situation)  he had absentmindedly sent a gust of magic out to hit a dummy enemy, but instead of hiting it, it richocheted off the wall, hitting Peter.

That hit sent Peter reeling, even though it wasn't all that powerful, it still was enough to knock him back a ways. It was much too strong of a sudden burst of energy, and  Peter hit the ground hard, a loud thud echoing through the simulation room. He shouted painfully on impact, curling in and clutching his wrist, that cracked painfully loud when he hit the ground. Stephen's heart sank- he knew that sound very well, and it wasn't good. Over the intercom, Tony shouted fractionally, stopping the simulation. The scenery dissipated and left only a plain room and a moaning, pained,  Peter and a panicking Stephen. Tony came down from his post, running down to the training ground over to his Stephen and his boy.

“Hey, hey, hey- _woah_!” he shouted, dropping next to them both,  trying to get Peter to show his arm. He looked at Stephen, who looked frantic as he tried to calm the boy “Stephen, what the hell was that?!”

“What-Tony, not now!” he rolled Peter to his back,  pressing a firm hand to his shoulder to push him to the ground. “Peter, Peter, relax, relax.” the teen  began to ease,  his breathing becoming slow and shallow. Perhaps some magic was used, but Stephen didn't worry about that now. He kept his eyes on Peter's and watched how they softened under his stare. He was relaxing, wasn't fighting anymore and relaxed his arm, gritted his teeth at the pain, but relaxed as much as he could under Stephen's grip on him. His senses weren't tingling, he wasn't in danger. He was in safe hands and had nothing to protest against. Stephen held his forearm, gently holding it with his hands. He had to pull back the sleeve of the suit,  and tried to peel it back without causing him too much pain. When Peter stifled a broken weep, Stephen abandoned the idea. Peter groaned painfully, the strain evident in his shaking voice.

"Son of a biscuit that hurt like a kick to my left butt cheek. Gosh dang, I'm mcfreakin hurt, oof  ouch what the french toast-"

They looked at him, confused at the words, but Stephen ignored them for the moment.

“Tony, do you have any scissors?”

“Not on me, no. There are some in the kitchen,  I could run and get them-”

“No need.” he created a portal to the kitchen and told him to go through and find them. As Tony did that, Stephen looked down at a surprised Peter. Again, he was amazed by the magic, his eyes were wide as he watched the golden magic swish around. It was hypnotizing, calming.  Tony reappeared with a pair of scissors from the hole as if leaving a mirror. Peter gasped at the feel of the cold metal on his sensitive skin. In his head, he thought up a million reasons why that was dangerous in itself, but his senses didn't kick in, so he left it alone.

Once the skin was exposed, Stephen grew gentler with him, touching the skin gingerly with his fingers, taking note of the red and purple that bloomed on his skin and how they would bleed into each other into one big, ugly bruise the length of his upper forearm. The bone was stiff, and when he touched a bit too close, the deep cringe he gave was a clear sign that it was indeed a dislocation- if it were broken, they couldn’t know until they took him to the hospital. Tony grimaced at the sight. It was a gross sight, he'd admit, but held his tongue to keep from spooking the teen.

“Peter are you okay? Well-are you as okay as you can be right now?”

He nodded, his eyes shining with tears. Tony put a hand on the boy's head, feeling the nervous sweat and the ridges of his furrowed brows.

“It's dislocated. It's clearly dislocated- the bruising says it's broken, but that's debatable. It's very clearly dislocated. ” he sighed painfully, still holding the arm add best he could to keep the boy from feeling too much pain. He looked at Tony, telling him with his eyes what they'd have to do. Tony frowned.

“Meaning we'll have to-”

“Yeah. Before we do anything else, we'll have to do it.”

Peter looked between them,  confused by their words and the sudden prick of his senses. Stephen gave him one of those smiles, a real doctor-type smile, the one that they give when they say “This'll only hurt a bit." before sticking needles into your veins and saying- 

Peter twitched his fingers. Bad move- the hand hurt too.

“Peter, I won't lie to you: this will hurt a lot more than you hope it will.” he nodded then to Tony, shifting his hands on Peter’s forearm, passing it along to the other who he could trust with a firm grip and pull. Peter muffled a shout of pain.

“This will hurt me more than it'll  hurt you.” Tony quipped, gripping the boy’s hand firmly as well as other a less painful spot on his forearm. He gripped harder and Peter squirmed, jaw locked to keep him from shouting. Stephen slid his hand over the boy's eyes, like a vet to an animal, leaving him in a deep darkness with only the warmth of his hands and the throbbing in his wrist.

“Breathe.” He told him in a low voice. Peter took a second, then inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled. He breathed in again, steadier, then came a hard yank of his hand and a searing pain that rushed through his arm and deep into his torso. There was a loud ‘pop’ when it happened, and he grit his teeth hard and clenched his fist to keep himself grounded. Tony had pulled his wrist back into place. He set the bruised arm down gently, then wiped his sweating palms on his pants, huffing through his nose. Stephen could tell he was upset- at him for being rough with Peter, and at Peter for getting hurt. Stephen took his hand off his eyes and Peter looked at his arm then at his father and Stephen, and gulped when he met Tony’s angry eyes.

“We’re going to the hospital. _Now_.”

“B-but Stephen’s a doctor we can do it here-”

“Peter,” He said unwavering, “we’re going to the doctor.”

“But- _woah_."

Peter was staring at his wrist when his eyes went wide- the bruising had dissipated as did the pain. He flexed his hand and flicked his wrist, expecting a surge of pain to rush through him again, but it moved flawlessly without a hitch. That took the adults by surprise as well, Tony leaned to look at the skin, but Stephen clamped his hand over it, hiding the skin from his eyes.

"What-"

"Gee, Peter, this uh, bruise sure is bad." He stood up, helping Peter to his feet, "Come on we're going to the lab- so I can take a look, yeah?"

He turned to the boy and winked at him, reminding him of their pact of  _not_ telling Tony about the curse. Peter nodded.

"Yeah, oof,  _ouch_ , Dr. Strange! My wrist really hurts, we should...hurry and go upstairs!"

Tony was confused, their change of voice and actions were strange and they were clearly hiding something from him, but he couldn't figure out what it was. The two left the training room before he could ask anything, leaving Tony alone in the large room. He threw his hands up in exasperation .

"What the hell is going on?" He asked to no-one,  huffing and leaving the room himself. 

* * *

 

Peter and Stephen were ushering their way around the lab,  Peter nervously asking an unstoppable flow of questions while Stephen fished a book from a pocket somewhere, flipping through it and then, upon finding the thing he was looking for, pressed his finger to it,  reading it aloud in a rush of words. 

"Unnaturally fast healing and regeneration- Peter, it seems the curse is working alongside your powers- you're becoming more superhuman by the day."

"But that-that doesn't make sense, spiders can't do that!"

"Spiders may not, but magic can.  What could be happening is that the curse doesn't want to die yet. It's like a parasite- it is keeping you in top shape so that it can continue its process until you've reached whatever peak it has in store."

"So, Mr. Wong's thing didn't work? Oh my god, Mr. Strange am I gonna die? I don't wanna die,  I haven't even gotten a girlfriend yet! Or a boyfriend! I haven't even turned sixteen,  and I've always wanted a sweet sixteen oh man...oh man..." Peter was going into panic mode,  rambling on to himself and pacing. Stephen put a hand on his shoulder and brought him close. 

"No, Peter, you're not going to die." ' _hopefully',_ "I won't let that happen, okay? I won't let you die." 

Peter wrapped his arms around him, hugging him close. It was boyish and sweet, reminding the doctor that he was still a boy in an essence, and that no boy as sweet as Peter should be going through such a thing. He kissed his forehead, and the arms grew tighter. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, Peter got his hug


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Bruce are purely filler tbh, that's how much I love them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is no longer 3 an but I really did want them to get engaged please don't beat me up

When Christmas Eve came about, Tony Stark was up and at ‘em from the crack of dawn, running around the large vacation cabin to make sure that all was in place and perfect for the party that evening. Peter had never seen a man run so fast carrying a bundle of tangled Christmas lights in his life. He was helping out too, he, May and Pepper were also all over the place, May cooking up dishes that would take some time to cook, Pepper with calling and making the guest list (not as if they’d need one anyway, the way F.R.I.D.A.Y was set up really dismissed the need), and Peter was helping his father string up the lights and some faux evergreen ropes.

The entire morning was filled with so much spirit that Peter, for a moment, forgot all about the curse, about all the weird stuff happening to his body and the tight pains in his chest and stomach. He just felt...good, like the day would be a good day and he had nothing to worry about. Hell, his curse could be all but gone and he wouldn’t even notice, not while he was helping put up the tree with his dad and pulling out the dust collected crates filled with ornaments or when he was sitting on the couch watching one of those clay Christmas movies and eating May’s fresh snickerdoodle cookies.

Yeah, it was a good day.

Tony noticed it too, the shift in the air, but he felt it differently. To him, it was the unnerving calm before a storm, like a breeze before a torrent of rain, but he kept it to himself, afraid of ruining the festive mood of the morning. Instead of being the pessimist, he covered his worry and nerves by helping in the kitchen with May, doing his part by prepping for a stew while May did another round of cookies, this time, they were sugar cookies. Silently, he hoped that under the sounds of the radio and the television, that the others in the house wouldn’t pay attention to his silence, but he was dead wrong.

In the dining room beside the kitchen, Pepper hung up her phone and added another name to the list, clicking her pen and turning towards the kitchen bar where Tony had set some pies, she walked over to the bar and sat on a bar stool.

“Hey, Pep, how’s it going with that list?”

“It’s uh, it’s great. Bruce and Thor will need a lift but they’re coming.”

“And T’challa?”

“He can’t but Shuri and Nakia are a definite.” She watched Tony cut up an onion, nearly nicking his finger in the process. May opened the oven to take out the last tray of cookies before putting in another in its place. Pepper cleared her throat.

“You know, you haven’t asked me to call Stephen.”

“Yeah, of course not. He’ll be here. He _better_ be here.”

And Pepper smiled at that, but still, something was off with her friend. She wanted to push, but also, she wanted to preserve the festiveness of the morning and instead decided  to talk about gifts and who would be coming and when which Tony ate up immediately, mildly bragging about some of the things he had gotten for everyone else, mostly speaking about the stuff for the kids and the like.

While they talked in the kitchen space,  Peter was in the living room, drawing up a new design for his Spider suit to give to Tony to make it more comfortable.  A couple tweaks with the web shooters, some twinges to the fabric of the suit to make it chaff less, etcetera, and by the time Peter had moved on to writing about each part of his sketches, and Pepper had gone to take a call, Tony had taken an aside to  make a sandwich for Peter, while dancing along to some Christmas tune that blared from the radio. When he finished it, he danced over to Peter, still moving to the beat, and looked over his shoulder at the drawings.

“That for your suit?” he asked, popping a grape into his mouth.  Peter jumped and fractionally scoured to hide the papers from his view,  stumbling out a mess of sounds that failed to take form. He only laughed and squeezed his shoulder.  “You hungry, Pete?”

“No-yeah.” He shifted on the couch, watching his father in the kitchen, his back swaying from side to side along with the tune of the music. He pulled a vine of grapes from the bag and laid them next to the sandwich. He looked at the plate of food for a minute, then pulled a knife from the utensil drawer, cutting it into fours. When he danced back to Peter, the boy groaned at the sandwich.

"Fours, Dad? I'm not a baby-”

He ruffled his hair, walking back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, well you're my little baby.”

“Dad-” He whined playfully, in the kitchen, he was busy cutting carrots and dropping them into the crockpot alongside the chopped potatoes and beef. Not looking back, he responded in tune.

“Eat your food, baby Pete.”

“At least call me what you used to.” he joked back,  picking up a slice of the sandwich, eyed it, and felt a compulsion to lick the bread, so he did.  He licked a spot until the bread was wet and soggy, then opened a hole in the bread, scooping the mixture of peanut butter and jelly out and into his mouth. He had no interest in the bread, which was strange to him, but he was more than satisfied with the filling. He did this to each square and grape, leaving the plate a mess of discarded bread and grape skin.

“Peter,” he called from the kitchen, “Pepper and I are going to pick up Bruce and some others, will you be fine staying or do you want to come with?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, you guys can go. I’ll probably go out soon though.” He responded, flipping the channel from one holiday special to another and chewing his lunch. Tony turned on the faucet and began washing a head of cabbage, before ripping off large chunks and dropping them in a Tupperware container to season in before cooking it.

“Well, alright. Don't forget to turn the crock-pot off when you come back in, the roast should be done by the time you get home. Make sure to set it on ‘keep warm’-"

“So it doesn’t get cold,” Peter spoke with him, he had heard the conversation before, and it was common sense to keep it warm after it was done. Tony smiled and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Fine. _”_ He snapped his fingers, “And don’t forget to wash your clothes and for christ's sake especially the Spidey-Suit.  I bet it smells like a high school gym in there.” he rambled on while preparing the pan for the cabbage. Peter answered him with an ‘okay’ and a grin.

Suddenly, his stomach turned to a knot and his acid reflux kicked in. He swallowed but felt sick and dizzy, and wanted to say so while Tony talked and cooked, but his mouth refused, trying to hold back a river of vomit. The before sweet and enticing smells of the kitchen and turned into a disgusting stench, one that was overbearing, and in a hurry to end the misery of inhaling, he went off to his room for some relief. He excused himself with a low mumble and ran.

Tony noticed it out the corner of his eye, Peter’s mad dash out the room, and at first he supposed that there was something burning that set him off, and opened the oven to check on the cookies (which were, in fact, on the cusp of turning into rocks if given an extra three minutes to cook), and quickly took them out. Still, he was confused that he hadn’t smelt them first. Then he also realized that they weren’t burnt, nor was the cabbage on the stove. His worries from before piqued again, and walked over to Peter’s now vacant spot and picked up the plate.

It was just like last time: only the insides were eaten and the outside was left. He didn’t like that. Peter loved bread, no way he’d just leave it there. He stared at the food, not quite sure what to make of it, so he sighed low, dropping the remains into the trash as he moved back towards the front door.

* * *

 

When the time came to pick up Bruce and Thor, the two of them took longer than expected to come out and meet their ride, mainly due to the fact that they were having a bit of a discussion about something that the Asgardian found. Bruce was doing some cleaning, sweeping the balcony, adjusting their outdoor plants that hung from chains. He was listening to some slow music, dragging the broom across the concrete. Behind him, busting through the front door was an excited Thor, a wriggling bundle in his arms.

“Banner! I have returned home!”

Bruce jumped at the call of his name, but turned anyway with a with a smile, walking back into the apartment. He closed the patio door behind him, and Thor was coming to meet him in the center of the room, the thing in his arms mewling and fussing under the blanket. He forced a smile for his friend.

“Hey, Big guy, what you got there?”

“Banner,” Thor unwrapped the creature, exposing a large mass of darkness inside the light blue cocoon, “I have located Loki.”. The cat blinked slow, sporting a bored look, its eyes a bright, shining green that bore into Bruce's. His smile turned soft, and he let the broom fall to the couch to put his hands onto his roommate’s arms.

“Thor, we've talked about this.” he looked at the cat, and shook his head, “That ain't Loki.”

This didn't deter the god. He lifted the cat slightly, like a parent giving their newborn. Thor was all smiles and optimism.

“I am positive this time, Banner. This is my brother.”

“Thor-”

“Bruce…”

Bruce looked at his roommate, then with a huff, took the cat from his hands and held it in his arms.

“Thor, I hope you know I can't do anything about this right now.”

Thor looked confused.

“Banner, what do you mean?”

“I mean, I can't test this cat here.”

“Test him for what, Banner? It is merely a cat. You see, this here creature is a reincarnate.”

“No, big guy, I don’t think so..”

“Why not? Look at his eyes, look at them,” He took the animal back and held it up to Bruce’s face, his voice going high and babyish, “look at those eyes, Bruce. Are those not my murderous brother’s eyes?”

Now it was Bruce who was confused, looking from Thor's smile to the kitten, trying to piece together what was intended and what was said. He opened his mouth, closed it.

“Yeah, I see a little bit of crazy in there. Yeah, yeah a little bloodlust.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah- yeah, I can see it meowing  _‘tesseract’_ at three a.m..”

“You can? I was thinking more _“bleh, bleh, I’m the king!”_ , you know?”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.” He touched the cat’s head after it sniffed at his fingers, “You- you want to adopt this cat, Big guy?”

“Yes.” Thor said firmly, then nervously added, “If you'll allow it.”

“Well I-,” he sighed. The apartment could use more...life, he supposed, and it would keep Thor busy while he was at work or something and would most certainly keep the oversized Labrador out if how hair for a while. “If you can take care of it then be my guest.”

His eyes sparkled then, and Bruce didn’t really know what to do about that, but he certainly wasn’t ready for Thor to drag him into a hug, his arm locking him in the spot against his side, the cat cradled in his other hand like a baby in a blanket. Bruce wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thing making his face turn red like that wasn’t the cold.

“Thank you, Banner.”

“No, uh, no problem, Big guy.” He patted his chest, and Thor beamed, tightening his grip.

“You know, I like it when you call me _"Big guy"-_ ”

Outside, a car horn beeped loudly, bringing them both back to the balcony to look down at the street. Thor held the cat close so it didn’t get hit with the cold air as they stared down at the street. The car door opened and out stepped Pepper, her bright white coat catching the dim streetlamp light and shining, her hair flowing in the cold wind.

“You guys coming or what?”

Thor turned to Bruce.

“Where does she mean?”

“Oh, shoot the Christmas party!” He covered his mouth in realization, then opened his palms to his roommate, “Oh my God, the party- I forgot to get a present.”

“Party with Stark? I thought you said that was tomorrow.”

“I thought it was tomorrow, that’s why I didn’t get any gifts. Oh my god, they’re gonna be so upset.”

The cat meowed.

“Not now Loki, we’re trying to think.”

Bruce returned his attention to the street when Pepper shouted again, “One minute!” Then he turned back to Thor, “What should we do?”

_“Meow.”_

“What was that, Loki? Oh, that sounds clever.”

“What is it? What he’d say?” Bruce asked frantically, looking from thor to the cat.

“He said take Horatio.”

“Hora- _no_ that’s my favorite ficus!”

“Will you two lovebirds come on!” She called again, and Bruce begrudgingly grabbed the potted plant, side-eyeing the cat. “Come on guys.”

In the car, Bruce was seated between the god and Rhodney, balancing the plant in his lap and trying his best not to keep peeking at his roommate playing with the cat in his lap, letting the little creature bat at his fingers and nip at the fat of his palm. It was cute, and goddammit, Bruce was a sucker for that cute shit! Rhodney offered little support though, reaching over to tickle the cat’s stomach, forcing the scientist to tuck the small plant close. He sighed, the ride was going to be a long one.

* * *

 After another hour or two of waiting for more guests to arrive (namely Stephen)Tony decided to commence the party, hoping that whomever else would show up would before it came time for dinner and gift giving. He and Pepper served drinks and set out the cookies to keep appetites abated for a while.  He mingled about with others, catching up with Clint, asking Shuri about Nakia and T'challa's forays into young love and whatever else came to mind. All while he did this, he kept an eye on Peter, watching for anything strange to happen like earlier, but each time his eyes drifted to the teen, he was doing perfectly fine. One minute he was playing with the cat and talking to Bruce, the next he was chatting with his friends on the phone. So instead, he turned his eyes to the clock and then to the front door.

He sipped his warm cider (vowing to Pepper and May that he'd hold off the liquor until the night became old and all the kids were in bed) and watched the front door for any sign of Strange and anyone else who might walk through. He walked back to the kitchen to refill his cup, and when asked by Peter if he could show Shuri around, he let them go, telling them to be back before dinnertime. As they left, from the front door came the sound of heavy boots on the wood floor, followed by the sounds of jovial laughter. Tony made his way to the foyer, his heart jumping at the thought of seeing Stephen. 

Only when he got there, it wasn't the Steve he wanted. 

Through the front door and out of the winter wonderland outside, was Steve and Bucky carrying massive wrapped presents and baring wide smiles. Tony watched them enter and stomp the snow from their boots before they stepped further inside. He waved when Steve noticed him and as James wordlessly nodded.

"Tony, how are you?" Steve asked cheerfully, bringing Tony in for a half-hug when he managed to get out of his boots and meet him, holding the large box in his other hand. He stepped back to give the smaller man a glance over, "Look at you- I see you've picked up a hobby." He joked, motioning at the flour-caked apron the other wore. Tony looked like a baking mess, and he cursed himself for not taking the damn thing off. What made up for it was the white blotching on Steve's coat from the loose flour.

"Yeah, it's therapeutic, baking enemy shaped cookies and biting their heads off." He put his hands in the pockets of the apron, "You got something right there," he pointed to the white spots, "and there, and there too." Steve looked down, as did Bucky, and wiped at the spots, and when he couldn't get it all out, he shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah. Where can I drop this, this thing is killing my arm."

Tony motioned for them both to follow him to the front room where the other partygoers cheered loudly at their arrival before returning to their conversations and activities. Bucky leaned forward to talk to Tony.

"You have one of those cookies with my face on it? I'd like to bite my head off too."

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling, "Oh please, you know you were the first one." he then  pointed to a roundtable already covered in boxes, "Put your present over there and make yourself at home."

And that was how it was until dinner rolled about around 7:30, and there still was no sign of Stephen Strange. May had taken a break from setting the table with Peter and Pepper to come over to him at the kitchen window that faced the snow-covered front yard, staring out at the muddied path through the evergreen trees. He didn't know why he was watching the street for a man that made portals everywhere, but it gave him something to stare at, at least. The sudden touch of May's hands on his arm and back broke his focus.

"Hm?"

"Anthony, why don't you call him?"

"Call? I-if I call him once, I'll call him eighty times."

"Anthony, it's dinnertime, you should at least send a message."

"I have faith in him."

"You say that while staring and waiting for a car that won't appear." She squeezed his shoulder, "Call him. I'm going to grab the ham." and Tony nodded when she left him. He had faith that he'd show, the man was busy after all, him being earth's big bodyguard against the unseen magical threats, but he figured May was right.

He reached into the pocket of his slacks, pulling free his phone free and hesitating to unlock it and dial him up. As it turned out, Stephen was well on his way already, just caught up with some last minute things, as in the middle of dessert and gift-giving, a bright circle opened up in the center of the room, catching everyone's eye, as it opened wider and out from it dropped the anticipated magician.

 Tony was first to stand from his seat to go into the front room, followed by everyone else, and was met with the sight of Stephen bringing himself to his feet, but settled for his knee instead. He looked rough, his jacket drenched with melting snow, and his jeans torn and dirtied. What the hell he was doing before, Tony hadn't the chance to ask, as Stephen beat him to words.

“Ah, Tony, could you come here for a moment?”

Tony looked around awkwardly, half expecting to be singled out, but still, it wasn't the most ideal time for it to not be awkward. With an anxious smile and hands deep in his pockets, Tony walked coolly to the spot where Stephen stood, not knowing exactly what to expect. The noise of the party grew when Tony finally stood close enough for Stephen to reach out and touch. People began to whisper, and Peter looked up from his partially unwrapped gift. His young features showed concern, then a mild confusion at the sight of Stephen looking that way. Tony turned to the crowd and cracked a small joke that made the people laugh and giggle. Peter didn’t budge, watching closely.

“Okay, Steph, what’s the 411?” He whispered turning back to a confident Stephen, but a quick glance to his hands showed that he was anything but. He quirked a brow. “Steph what’s wrong, you’ve got everyone watching.”

“Yeah, that’s precisely what’s wrong. I’m not good at these things.”

“What things?” Tony asked as Stephen slid a shaking hand into his own, and slowly descended to the floor, down on bended knee. Tony jumped in shock, eyes going wide, “Stephen what are you doing.”  he muttered anxiously, adrenaline pumping through his blood. Stephen winked.

“What’s it look like?” He whispered back with a wink. The crowd began to mumble with excitement, ready to cheer and shout- all except Peter, who clenched his jaw and watched the scene unfold with darting eyes. He felt Steve put a hand on his shoulder.

“Stephen-”

“Tony.” He turned his head to face the waiting crowd, then locked eyes with Peter- hopeful blues locking on to daring ones. He was intense for a fourteen-year-old, but he ignored it, lifting his voice above a whisper for the second time since he arrived. “Tony-Tony Stark-”

“That’s my name, yes.”

“Hush.” He exhaled through his nostrils, “Tony, we’ve been together for how long?”

“Four years. Why?”

 _‘God, four years? Four years and you’ve just thought of this now? ’_ He cursed himself. Everyday with Tony didn’t even feel like a day, let alone four years.

“Four years is more than enough time then, for this,” With his free hand, he reached into his pants pocket, and pulled a light blue box from it, the crowd began buzzing yet again. Tony’s heart jumped into his throat. Peter was annoyed by Steve's hand on his shoulder because of a sudden rush that filled him, his muscles twitched, and he tried to stand, but Steve kept him firmly in place. His left eye twitched, then blacked out, then came back again.  He couldn't focus, but he tried, not wanting to miss such a moment.

“Anthony Stark,” he flicked the box open and hoped and prayed that the ring wouldn’t fall from the box due to his shakes, “will you or won’t you join me in the spirit of holy matrimony?” He tried to joke to calm his nerves, but it didn’t work. Still, the further widening of his eyes and the quick squeeze of his hand told Stephen that his words translated well.

“Y-yeah! O-of course. Yeah. Hell yeah!”

And the crowd went wild, even Steve took his hand from Peter’s shoulder to clap loudly in congratulations. Peter couldn't believe what was happening- not the fact that his dad just got engaged officially on Christmas eve,  no, but the fact that his stomach just jumped into his throat and he had to choke back the hot acid that threatened to spew. His nails dug into the present in his arms, watching as his father and Stephen hugged, smiles all around. He looked behind him to Steve. He was smiling for miles, Bucky standing by and grinning. Peter was dazed, everything felt like a big slap to the face. His breathing slowed, his heart rate kicked up-when he saw Tony plant a chaste kiss on Stephen’s lips, he couldn't help it. He stood abruptly the gift still in his arms, mouth in a tight-lipped scowl. The happy cheers died when Peter stood, feeling a tension in the air.

Peter couldn't find anything to say. He was so caught up in his shock, that words escaped him, and left him standing dumb, his mouth clenched in a tight frown.  Tony let go of Stephen and reached a concerned hand to him.

“Peter?”

But he shook his head, then darted from the living space, his sneakers scuffing the floor as he ran off to his bedroom. Something was really wrong with him now,  he could feel it in his chest as he ran far from the party area. He clutched the spot over his heart, stopping in the middle of the hall, the wall he leaned on being his only support as a sharp pain shot through him with each pound of his heart. The pain was searing, crippling. He fell to the wall, sliding to the floor into a crunched fetal position. He could hear his heart in his ears like a bell in a church. His jaw ached from being clenched, and sweat fell from his face like candle wax. The world spun as he grew dizzier, his will to fight off whatever it was inside was waning, and soon, the darkness behind his blinking eyes grew longer, until he slumped to the ground and let himself fall into a deep sleep.

Back in the living room,  Stephen had made a move to chase after him, but Tony’s hand on his chest kept him there. He shook his head and looked at Steve, who sported a  frown at Peters reaction. They shared a look, something telepathic it seemed, as without a physical word being spoken, then Steve scampered off after Peter.   

Tony awkwardly put his hands back into his pockets and sighed. Stephen looked horrid.

“Well then…” he started, “who else needs a drink to forget? I know I do.” he half-joked with the crowd, but it was very true. They all needed a drink at the moment, and the crowd mumbled in agreement.

Steve had wandered around before coming to Peter’s room, solely for the purpose of allowing the kid to cool down before he got grilled by him, but his search was cut short at the sight of Peter lying limp on the ground. He rushed to him,  turning him over to his back, and near panicked when he saw how much blood had run from his nose. It covered his lips and chin, some had seeped into the cotton of his shirt, and on the space where he had laid, was a large dark puddle. Steve pressed his fingers to the boy's neck and felt barely an iota of a pulse. He was cold to the touch, wet with sweat and blood, and Steve didn't know what else to do but scoop him up and run him to the living room.  

When he brought him back, blood that left him in liquid form congealed quickly once it hit the air, and his body was limp, yet stiff in Steve's arms. Shock and confusion filled the air. They rushed Peter to a nearby hospital where he was taken to the emergency room first thing, and where he stayed for hours until he woke again somewhat conscious and stable, but still felt worse than he ever had before. 

* * *

 His curse didn't go away, it only waited until it was just right to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you believe that i have written out everything that is supposed to happen within the next 2-3 chapters? that's what happens when you dont sleep lol.  
> anyway I absolutely ADORE Clea Strange and i suggest that if you dont know her to look her up she's a sweetie and Stephen is so soft for her my god (also it'll explain some big stuff thats going to happen later so ye) anyway prepare yourselves, it's about to get wild.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh it's getting saucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some liberties with the Dark Dimension description, as i wanted to mix the movie and the comics and honestly kinda make it a bit more idk like a place where things live? lol
> 
> Also in this, Clea knows about Umar and Dormammu being her relatives (unlike earlier in the comics where she didn't know) so this takes place after she's ruled and was overthrown :p

 

He had awoken in the hospital bed, plugged up to IVs and other machines that beeped and blinked loudly next to his head. It was morning, and according to the television across from him playing a Judge Judy episode before cutting to a mini news clip, it was the twenty-seventh of December, two days after he-

His head began to throb, a high-pitched ringing in his ears as a sort of flash of light blinded him for a moment. His arms felt too heavy to move, so he only weakly rolled his head on the flattening pillow. His skin feels sensitive, every touch was painful or itchy or just plain rough, the light sheet on him was a horrid offender, stressing him as it hurt him. He kept blinking, pressing his eyes shut tightly and opening them a slither before cringing and closing them again. He groaned, those seemingly the only sounds he could muster at the moment and felt the hard pinch in his chest that told him we wanted to cry.

He was in unimaginable pain on a cold winter morning, and alone at that. Who wouldn't cry in this situation?

He turned his head to the side, letting it settle on the pillow that itched his face. He was facing the machines, the poles of which were reflective, where he caught a glimpse of himself. His face was red and swollen, his eyes a raw red, and at the center of his head, between his eyes and settled in the upper bridge of his distorted nose, were skin covered almonds shaped mounds that looked hard and settled. They were more like stubbed horns than pimples that could've formed, and Peter, ever curious, wanted to feel them, touch them with his cold fingers.

He could see through the hall facing window his father and Stephen talking to each other, their faces close and both showing different, widely different emotions. Tony was angry, his brows down and his jaw and eyes set as he listened to Stephen. Stephen looked sorry, looked deeply upset, speaking with his hands. He couldn't hear them, but he felt like he didn't want to, something about how they were arguing made him anxious.

* * *

 

“Stephen, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you are not telling me that my son is cursed.”

“Anthony, I’m sorry.” Stephen brought his hands up to touch Tony, but he moved back.

“Hm, see, I’m hoping that you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“Tony, he is.” He sounded afraid, as if he were about to plead for his head. Tony was unmoving, his frown deepening.

“Stephen, how did this happen?”

“You remember that book of spells that Peter took to school that unleashed those bugs around the building?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some luck our son has because he managed to steal one of _the_ most cursed books in the sanctum-”

“What? Stephen, I thought you guys knew what books went in and out of there!”

“Well the Ninik is,one, a fairly new book to come into our hands, and two, we haven’t even had the time to fully research the book _because_ Peter took it,” Stephen spoke fast in an attempt to at least throw in a little reassurance, but Tony wasn't having it. The other man clenched his fist, his eyes wide with anger and he was trying his best to blink back tears.

“What’s- what’s going to happen to him?”

“Well, that’s what Wong and I are trying to find out. You see, apparently, the Ninik curses anyone who uses it- Peter didn’t screw up the spell, he just chose wrong. So far, what we can expect is for him, one of these days, to be no more.”

Tony buckled, his breath catching in his throat. Of all things he could’ve said, he didn’t want him to say that.

“How long? Hm? How long did you know about this?”

Stephen didn't know what to say, he looked around at the faces of the others who looked at him with faces etched in concern and question. He didn't want to look at any of them, the shame filling his cheeks.

“Since the school closed...”

“For _four weeks_ , Stephen?!” Tony shouted, his voice echoing through the one silent halls of the building, Peter even heard it and jumped at the sheer amount of absolute rage that filled it. Steve put up his hands to quiet Tony down, but he didn't want it. Nurses walking the halls looked over at them and rushed away.  “You knew about this for four _goddamn_ weeks and you didn't for _once_  think to tell me about it? About _my son_ being under some bullshit curse?”

“I- Anthony-”

“Shut up and then answer this: can you or can't you fix this now?” His words were sharp and precise, his pressed fingers accenting every word. 

“We don't… We don't know…”

“So...he’s going to die? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Tony...what I’m saying is that we don’t know yet. So far all things point to him either dying outright because of the curse or turning into a spider-”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing but wait. Wong and I are searching for the Ninik’s creator or home dimension or planet, but we haven’t much luck. If we can find a cure then we’ll use it but-”

Tony put up a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose. His stress was through the roof, his anxiety rising and he was about to blow an absolute gasket if Stephen didn't leave his sight at that moment.

“Tony, see this is why I didn't tell you-” Stephen tried, but the tearful look he got from Tony stopped him.

“I don't know if you haven't noticed but, um, we’re in a fucking _hospital_ , Stephen! My _son_ is in _that_ room, hooked up to all these fucking machines and we have no clue if he's going to die or not and all you can say is ‘ _this is why I didn't tell you’_? So what you thought lying to my face would be better?!”

“I-”

Wong stepped in then, jumping in to add his own idea, “We could always.. _yo_ _u know_ ..” he looked between them, Tony looked at him, figured that he wasn't the one to be mad at and spoke softly, but slowly.  
"What's _'you know'_ ? _'You know'_ sounds bad I don't like _'y_ _ou know'_.”

"We could just speed up the process and turn him into a spider ourselves-”

Tony closed his eyes again, pressing his finger to his lips.

“I. Don't. Want. A _spider,_ Wong. I want my _son!_!”

Peter jumped again at the shouting. The monitor next to him began to beep faster. His skin was getting tighter, colder and his bones began to cramp and ache to the point that he wanted to move but the weight of his own body was too much.

Steve mumbled to himself, “I mean, isn't he technically…”

Tony glared at the man on the bench, really wishing that all those years ago they kept the bastard frozen. He took off his glasses, breathed in and let it out, and pointed the leg of his glasses at the magicians before him.

"If you two don't cure him before the year is out, you won't be alive to see the next one.”

And with that, he went into the room, and smiled at the bedridden teen, bringing a chair to sit next to him. Peter smiled slightly, and looked outside pass the window where the others were, but saw that no one walked by that he knew.  He was brought back to the room by Tony's hand reaching for his own. He realized then, that he could barely move his mouth and that his throat wouldn't contract to produce a voice even if he could.

Stephen took that as his que to get out of Tony’s way, and began his slow walk down the whitewashed halls, not hearing the taps of Steve’s boots on the linoleum flooring as he jogged behind him, clapping his hand on his shoulder and feeling the doctor stiffen. Steve, his hand never leaving the magician's shoulder spoke to him, encouraging the downtrodden doctor as they walked down the hall.

“Stephen, I have faith in you.”

“Thank you, Steve, but I don't think we'll be able to cure him in time.”

“Is there… anyone else who might? Might have an answer? There must be many more of you, yeah?” Steve asked this time, now slowing and directing Stephen to a hospital bench. The doctor looked down at his shoes, wracking his brain to find some leverage with Steve’s words and then-

He brought his head up, his eyes going wide. Steve was right, there were more of them, plenty more than he and Wong, more than those on _Earth_. He looked at Steve, the feeling of euphoria filling him and he put his hands on his face, cupping his bearded cheeks, catching Steve off guard and making him shift in his seat.

“Steven you're right! There is someone else.”

“Uh, okay, who?” He asked, his cheeks being pressed by Stephen's.

Stephen couldn’t hold back the smile that teased his lips  at the thought of this savior: “My ex-wife.”

* * *

 Stephen had not spoken to Clea in perhaps, years, except for the given occasions where he needed some great help from the Sorceress, but he figured that now was just as much as an emergency as any.  

Stepping away from Steve he simply closed his eyes and mumbled a slew of words that none could decipher, but after a few moments of him calling for Clea to appear (or at least answer), he opened his eyes in time to see a bright purple portal form in the air beside them, and then saw it expand enough to allow the figure of a young woman appear, her white hair fluttering and her ice blue eyes sparkling when she stepped through and saw Stephen before her in his casual wear. She was dressed in her common clothes, making her stand out greatly amongst the more casually dressed. She cared not though, and while her portal closed, her clothing changed to something more 'human casual', and  she walked to the doctor with calculated steps, then lunged for him when she was close enough to touch him, totally ignoring Steve who was so taken by her otherworldliness, that he hadn’t noticed she didn’t speak to him.

“Steve, meet Clea, Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension and perhaps our only way of curing Peter.”

She waved at him, he was still staggered by her radiation but dumbly waved back, she returned her attention to the man that called for her.

“Stephen, my friend, you look as dashing as ever.” Her brows furrowed, “But something is stressing you. What is it? Why have you called for me?”

He put his hands on her arms, and she did the same, placing her now bare, soft hands in the fold of his arms, looking up at him with worried eyes that didn’t shy away from his.

“My friend’s son has been cursed by the Ninik, and he’s getting worse by the second. I thought that you might know what to do.”

A smile spread on her lips, and she radiated a new, excited warmth. “The Ninik curse, Stephen! All you must do is give him the Philter of Arkinin and he shall be fine by daybreak.”

The way she said the solution was shocking. She made it sound so obvious that it made Stephen feel stupid for not seeing it sooner, but then the excitement died.

“But Clea that is a love potion..”

“Well, of course.”

“He’s only fifteen and that potion would kill him before it even had time to heal him.”

“You're right...”

“Clea,” He leaned in close to her, feeling her optimism dying, “is there any way to dilute the solution so he doesn’t undergo those effects?”

She shook her head, the snow white locks shifting like waves as she moved her head, “No, I’m sorry-”

“Gods, what monster made this curse? Every turn is a dead end or a loophole.” Clea bit her lip, then brought Stephen aside, bringing him closer.

“My uncle made it. He made the book and the curse as a joke to play on those who wished to use it to overthrow him.”

Stephen couldn’t believe it. “Dormammu? He made a cursed book for some petty reason like that? ”

Clea shushed him, “Petty? Yes, but it is nothing to fool with. The Ninik curse is no joke.”

And Stephen took her words seriously, their weight taking on something heavier than before. Straightening her posture, she looked around the hospital lobby, looking for the son she was to help.

“Where is he, the son?”

“He’s back up the hall, I can show you but I must get to the sanctum to find a cure or a way to dilute the potion myself should you not be able to." And Clea agreed, walking back with Stephen to the room where Peter and Tony were, and she watched them through the glass, seeing the poor shape that Peter was in on the bed, how pale and hollow he looked- definitely he was under the curse and was suffering. Before Stephen could retreat to the sanctum, she asked him how long he had been under the curse, and her eyes went wide at the length of time. It was surely impossible, but she did not answer when he asked why it was important.

After Stephen left, she tapped the glass lightly, but the sound was loud enough to bring Tony and Peter’s attention to the window. Confused by the sight of this strange woman, Tony left Peter to go out and talk to her, and she wasted no time, for they had no time to waste.

“Your son is under a very powerful curse right now, and unless we find a way to deliver a cure to him, it is definite that he will die.”

Tony was surprised even more then by her bluntness, no introduction, no easing into the words, just a straight answer. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms,

“And who are you?”

“Clea. Sorceress Supreme, and from what I’ve heard, your son is undergoing some very agonizing side effects. The fact that he’s even alive now after weeks is a miracle enough.”

Tony was staggered, this was a lot to take in, and it certainly was too much at once. He looked around the hallway as nurses and doctors breezed pass, as visitors and patients walked by, probably dealing with something just like him but not at all like him. He looked back at Peter in the room, he had fallen asleep, his hand still upturned and awaiting his own.

“Damn, and here we thought he was turning into a damn insect…”

She made a face at that, confused. The Ninik curse did not do such things. Before she could say so, the room went into a loud frenzy, the monitors beeping loudly, button lights flashing. Coming up the hall were doctors rushing into the room to stabilize him, and Clea disguised herself without Tony’s knowledge and managed to slip into the room where she was able to see him up close and touch him.

Peter’s body was going into overdrive. He was deathly pale, bordering a gray tone,  sweat pooling on his face and all over, running and dripping in thick beads. His bones were stiff, unmoving, and his skin was a freezing cold to the touch. She took his hand, and her warmth seeped into the cold skin, like sunlight on soil, and Peter said something to her, he could recognize her by her eyes, and she responded with a rub of his knuckle. Suddenly, he began to shake violently, seizing on the bed, taking all the doctors by surprise at another dramatic shift in Peter’s condition, and when Clea had found she had enough evidence to know what to do, she put him under a spell that relaxed his body, allowing the doctors to check his pupils and his heart rate. Clea left the room last after the other doctors, then revealed herself to Tony, who was both shocked and horrified by what had occurred, but he rightened himself when she showed herself.

“Mr. Stark, your son is not doing well. ”

“Yeah, I figured. Is-is he okay? Can I go see him?” He went to go in, but her hand to his chest stopped him.

“Don’t, he’s under a great amount of stress and if you go in there, you may trigger it again. He needs to rest or else he’ll fall back into his terrors.”

Tony sat down on the bench beneath the window.

“Mr. Stark, if-if I may propose an option.” She wrung her hands, sitting beside him, moving her hair over her shoulder. “The being that made the curse your son is under...well, he so happens to be my uncle.” Tony tensed, looking at her under his lashes, “I could go to him and seek a cure- a proper cure that isn’t the love potion. Mr. Stark,” she placed a hand on his arm, the spot warming, “if you will let me, I will take Peter to the Dark Dimension and bargain with my uncle.”

Tony considered it, putting his hand on hers, “Who’s this uncle of yours? He lives in the Dark Dimension and we don’t have the best of friends down there..”

She bit her lip, “Oh, you do but, my uncle is not one of them...which is why I’m asking. Mr. Stark, my uncle is Dormammu.”

“ _Dormammu_!? As in the same Dormammu who tried to take over Earth, what, like five years ago?”

She nodded sadly, “But you see, the Ninik is from a personal collection of his. He made the book and the curse as a cruel joke on those who wanted to disobey him,” she looked down, a pink coming to her cheeks, “how it got to the sanctum and to your son...is my fault.”  Tony didn’t know what to say, so she kept talking, “I was the one who stole the book and took it to the sanctum. I thought that the book was a cruel weapon- so I disguised myself and left it in the building-”

“So you, wait, backup- your uncle is the mighty black magic being, Dor- _freakin’-_ mammu, who made a shifty little cursed book just for laughs? And you, being the savior, stole his book and left where a kid could get it?” He began to seethe, “Peter is in there turning into an insect because of a _joke_?”

Clea looked confused then, sitting back from Tony, looking over his features to see if _he_ was joking.

“ No, well, yes! But, Mr. Stark-”

“Tony.”

“Mr. Tony, the Ninik curse does not turn anyone to  _insects_ \- the curse _kills_. I don’t even see how Peter made it to this point, normally it takes but a few days to run its course, but not weeks.” She explained, watching Tony’s reaction with soft eyes. He was floored, and if what Clea said was true about the curse, then there must’ve been something else that was coursing through him. He weighed his options, not fully sure if he could trust Clea, a woman he just met, with the life of his son in practical enemy territory, but figured that he had no other option. Clea was giving it to him straighter than Stephen and Wong had, and she seemed to know what she was doing. He nodded his head, looking into Clea’s eyes, searching for a lie or malice.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Stephen asked me for help, and help I shall. ”

"What's he to you to get you to do this? He like an ex-boyfriend or something? A cousin?"

"No," she smiled, thinking what Tony was saying was silly, "he's my ex-husband."

"Your-" He stopped himself, there were more pressing issues to deal with at the moment, and ex-spouses were not one of them. He blinked, “Okay. You can take him to Dormammu and try your hand at this cure and if it doesn't work then,” he sighed, throwing up his hands, “then it doesn’t work…”

“It will, Mr. Tony,” She moved her hand to his shoulder, squeezing it to reassure him. She stood from the bench and walked into the hospital room where Peter was deep in slumber, unaware of the plan that he was part of. She pressed her hand to his forehead, rubbing the crease in his brows with her thumb. Tony walked in right after and stood beside her.

"So this might be it, huh."

"It might be, but you need to have faith in him." She moved to the side to allow Tony to step closer to him, and he pushed back the boy's sweat-damp bangs and kissed his forehead, patting his hair down.

"Alright, kid, you got this." 

Clea took her cue, coming and grabbing Peter's hand and pulling him up from the bed, a violet fire surrounding him as she lifted, and as if peeling away a mold, Peter’s real body lifted and split from the copy that was left on the bed, one purely identical to the real thing. Tony was dumbfounded, in awe at the display of magic, and quickly looked from the bed where a copy lay, to the real thing that stood limply against her body, but she held his weight easily with one arm around his waist, and before making her trip to the other world, she woke Peter so that he could stand.

When he came too, he was confused and anxious, looking around with squinted eyes at the world around him. One minute he couldn’t get out the bed, the next he was standing a foot from it, pressed to the side of the woman. He couldn’t really see anything, everything a blur and hazy, even when he blinked. Tony didn’t know that Peter was awake, in fact,  after he took another look to the bed and then back at the wall where thought Clea stood with Peter on her hip, the two of them were gone from the room and he was left feeling a bit dazed, as if what he assumed had happened never happened and that what was once there really was never.

He blinked it away, the thought of them at the wall, He couldn’t remember what had happened in the space of a few minutes from when he was talking to Clea outside in the hall to now, where he stood alone next to Peter. He felt that he had seen something happen, something wild and strange, but he couldn’t think of when it happened or how. Shaking his head, he sat next to Peter again, watching him sleep.

They watched Tony in those seconds, just out the scope of reality, yet somehow still in the same room. Peter was no longer disoriented or dizzy, he still felt the pangs of sickness in his stomach and his bones hurt, but he was standing fine. He watched Tony’s confusion, then faced Clea next to him, pointing to the man in the chair

“Hey, um, ma’am,” He started, and Clea looked down at him, “what’s wrong with him? He can’t see us?”

“No.”

“But…”

“Different reality, Peter. Your father can’t see us, can’t hear us, nor can he feel us.” She put her foot against the wall,  opening a swirling, purple glowing hole. She grabbed Peter’s hand, and before stepping into the dark space that was outlined but swirling purples, she gave him a bright smile. “Peter, I am going to cure you.”

She pulled him into the darkness, and then, they were gone.

* * *

The first stop they landed on was a dark forest of twisted trees that arched over them like shadows. It was here first, that Peter realized that they had truly broken barriers, and he became excited by the feel of the coarse turf under his bare feet and the plain air that touched his skin. Above him, he couldn’t see the sky through the thick, interlocked branches, nor could he see past their dark trunks. He then remembered Clea, and turned to her. She looked different then, wearing such odd clothes but never ditching the deep violet, and her hair glowed like a white halo.

“Ma’am, where are we?” He asked her, trying to match her brisk pace, suddenly his feet no longer felt the tough ground, and his gown no longer flapped in the wind. She had changed his clothes to something more fitting, he supposed, and Clea answered him not with words but with sight, bringing him to the edge of the forest and stopping, putting up an arm to keep Peter from walking too far, and when he looked down, he was glad she had because over the edge of the pitch black turf, was nothing beneath them but dark space decorated with colorful swirls of golds and purple and other colors that shined like strings of light. They were on a floating island, one of many that floated around them, and she brandished it to him.

“This is the Dark Dimension, Peter. This is where Dormammu and Umar rule, and where dark magic thrives.” An island floated by above them, another in front and below them, but many, many of them were far above where they were. He turned to her, awe and fear painting his face an excited yet fearful emotion.

“So this-this is so cool. Frightening, but so freaking cool...oh yeah, why are we here?”

“To plead for your curse to be lifted.” she stepped to the outermost part of the island, and Peter followed behind her, sticking close as another island drifted by. “Peter, hold my hand.”

“I-okay,” He blushed, feeling like a little kid again and having to hold his mother’s hand before walking across the street. He didn’t even know this woman’s name, but he still felt a familiarity and felt safe. He slid his hand into her gloved ones, “I don’t feel sick anymore though.”

“Of course not, that’s due to my own spell. I’m keeping you upright until we get to the main island, then the spell will release and you will feel... _terrible_ , to say the least.” She gripped his hand, locking their fingers, and pulled his arm, jumping from the ledge. Peter didn’t realize what she was planning until they were falling into the nether darkness, and he screamed as they fell,  clenching his eyes shut, not wanting to face what it was he was falling into.

They weren’t falling for long, in fact, one could argue that they didn’t fall at all- their feet were on solid ground yet again, as quickly as if they only moved an inch to the side, but in the midst of his horror, Peter hadn’t noticed, his eyes still closed and shouting, an iron grip on her hand. She tapped his chest, and he shook his head. She tapped him again and he peeked out of one eye, then opened the other, realizing they were on a rising island, one much smaller and faster moving than the others he’d seen.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m cool.” He sniffled, “I’m coolio.”

She laughed, “Okay, Peter, if you say so.”

The entire ride up was spent with them talking as they passed other islands, these looking like their own worlds, some with cities and high reaching towers, others like macabre parks or villages and towns. Peter asked about each one, if they had names and the types of beings that lived there. She pointed to some and said that they were full of criminals, others were residential places, but most were guard posts that seemed vacant, but had a bright orange light that would turn a bright green if there were a threat. Peter didn’t press about most of them, but he was deeply interested in the beings that were going to see.

“So, that Dormammu guy, he’s gonna cure me?”

“Hopefully. I still have not figured out what to say for him to even entertain the thought.”

When the island came close to the centermost (wherever ‘centermost’ was in a dimension where a day was the equivalent to a year and falling was as quick as a sidestep), Clea urged Peter to step into another one of her portals, claiming that to jump onto the island would very much be suicide, and in Peter walked, and out the other side, he and Clea stood before a large set of blackened, double doors that went for miles above their heads, with large, fearsome statues out front, looking too real to be simply sculpted. Peter stayed close, and he snuck his hand to her belt, grabbing onto one of the hanging ends and held it cautiously. She stepped forward towards the doors, the acidic green moat that bubbled beside the path they walked, erupted with each of her firm steps, and each time, riding on a burst of green liquid popped a disembodied object. First an arm, then a leg, up till they finally reached the palace doors, and the last burst threw up a head onto their path, scaring Peter stiff.

A booming voice that seemed to come from all over came then, and shook the island, the volume made the green lake burst as a whole, and large pools of the stuff settled around them.

“ _Clea!”_ called the voice, and they both stood straighter then, but Clea, unlike the teen, showed no fear at the shout.

“Umar!”, She shouted back, “Open your doors or else we will enter by force!”

“ _You threaten me, child!? On my own step!”_

"Don't fool yourself, Umar! This is  _Dormammu's_ palace!"

_"You insolent child!"_

From the puddles sprouted hunched over, sniffling and snarling at them. With a wave of a glowing, magic encased hand, she cleared the area before her. When one lunged at Peter, instinctively, he flicked his wrist to shoot a web but was reminded very bluntly when he had, that he didn’t have his shooters on him. Clea turned and shot a burst of magic at the remaining, causing them to shriek in pain, then dissipate.

“Umar, open the doors! We haven’t the time for this foolishness!”

" _Rot, you impudent little girl! Begone!"_

Clea dealt with the next few that appeared with ease, which upset both her and Umar. She was losing patience with her mother, and Umar losing patience with her.

"Umar, I am on a quest!" She shouted and pointed to Peter, "I am here to cure this boy of his curse that _your_ brother has placed! Open these doors!"

When she finished yelling, Peter felt a sting in his chest, and he felt weak in the knees again, but he braved it through and remembered as Clea had said before- when they reached where they had to go for his cure, he would feel the curse coming in full. Umar responded by releasing more goons to face her, but she refused to entertain them.

Where they walked through and landed looked to Peter like the large foyer to an ancient castle. The walls went high and curved at a dark precipice, the stone walls were dark shades of grays and blacks, with cut spaces in them that held large vases of green fires that gave the otherwise unnerving black castle an eerie glow. He stood close to Clea, near clinging to her arm as he felt a cold wind blow through the room, that chilled his skin and forced goosebumps to rise. His heartbeat was unimaginable, and it skipped when there was a loud banging and a shrieking laughter that echoed through and caused bats to stir. He shouted in fear when a bat came close to his head, and now fully clung to her.  He started feeling the curse begin to pick up a pace, and he began to sweat profusely, the drops rolling down his face as he felt a fever creeping in. When he stumbled, Clea allowed him to lean into her, and she walked with his weight on her side.

They weren’t far from the throne room, and she was grateful for that, as it would mean that she didn’t have far to limp along with the boy on her. It wasn’t his weight that was the problem, but the hassle of letting him down to fight off any enemies that came their way- the time she took to set him down gently could be all they needed to end their conquest. Peter’s feet began to drag, and his breathing shallow, forcing her to pick up her pace down the long corridor, ignoring the noises sent to distract and scare her.

She was going to get Peter cured, even if it meant storming every room in the palace. She was doing it for Stephen, for Tony, and for Peter himself.

When she had finally reached the throne room after her walk (which took longer due to Peter's sudden cases of vomiting spiders and acid), she pushed the large doors open with her magic, making the large slabs of dark wood to slam back against the wall, eliciting a reverberating _'boom'_  throughout the room and garnering the annoyed look of Umar from her throne, and Dormammu's anger.

"Dormammu," she shouted at the large being in his own, much larger seat, the flame of his crown flickering. He frowned down at the white-haired woman, "I've come to bargain!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleh i edited this while I was cooking oof, later today is going to be a blast re-editing this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i HATE writing for Wong and shit bc I did it all wrong and he seems like an asshole but i promise he's a good man dkhfksldf anyway this is the end of it all lol can you believe Peter is fucking dead lolololol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i barely beta read this guess ill die

Back at the Sanctum Sanctorum, Wong and Stephen were heavy at work searching for their own means to cure Peter once again, unknowing of the journey that Clea had taken upon herself to go on. The sanctum was in terrible condition, spellbooks, recipe books, scrolls and whatever else they hoped would hold a solution (a nonlethal solution), they had scoured through and when found that it was useless, was placed to the side. As Stephen finished fishing through another book and then dropped it onto a stack with a stressed and exhausted sigh, he leaned forward and dropped his forehead onto an empty shelf. There were many things running through him, and each one was worse than the other- worry, then regret, then self-deprecation- all of which hindered him from being able to focus on the task, let alone fathom an idea or plan.

Wong, on the other hand, was taking his time with his searchings, flipping through books and bookmarking what he thought would help their situation. When Stephen noticed his cool demeanor, he asked him about it.

“Wong, how are you able to be so calm right now?”

“Being calm and relaxed is how you should deal with all stressful situations. You of all people should know that.”

Stephen sighed, he was right though, panic lead to frantic behavior, which lead to more disaster. When he heard Wong drop his book onto his own stack, then reach for a wooden box of recipe cards, Stephen began to think back all those weeks ago when Peter had first gotten sick, and how when wong gave him a mixture for the boy to drink-

“Wong, what was that drink you gave Peter, those weeks ago? Perhaps we could use that again? It seemed to work for a while. We can make it stronger than then and get this curse out the way.”

Wong whistled, flipping through the gold lined cards, and shook his head.

“We can’t use that.”

“Why not? It worked then, why wouldn’t it work now?”

Wong closed the box, it then locking itself with an audible _‘click_ ’, and looked at Stephen.

“Because what I gave Peter was a dilution of another elixir.” he grabbed a book and flipped through it, “Giving him that dilution but stronger would surely just be the same as giving him the elixir.”

Stephen stood up, looking at his partner with deep confusion. He had never heard such a thing, and even then, he was sure that it wouldn’t have worked like it had.

“What was it? What did you give him?”

“Uhm,” he tried to remember, “I gave him the ‘Elixir of Arachne’ to help with the spider and vomiting problem.”

“And that was the dilution?”

“Yes, a dilution of,” He found the page in the book he held in his hands, tapped the page, “ ‘Arachne’s Blessing’. A potion used to turn the user into a spider. I took some liberties with it and tried to dilute it to the point that instead of doing anything drastic, it would help purge the spiders out of him.”

“So you-you diluted a transformation potion into a detransformation potion? I don’t understand-”

“No, I turned a transformation potion into a purger. Kind of like drinkable Raid to kill off the insects inside of him, then threw in a bit of ginger to keep his vomiting at bay. It was never meant to cure the curse because I didn’t know what the curse entailed. You can’t do a whole puzzle with only half the pieces.” He said it all so casually, closing the book and setting it to the side. Stephen struggled to figure out what to feel- should he be happy still that Wong helped or upset that he would do such a thing? He opened his mouth, closed it, and thought back all those days, back to when he Wong asked him to check-up on Peter’s condition, back to when he gave him the checklist and told him to ask if Peter was doing alright. Now he understood perfectly well why he asked him to do so: Wong was unsure of his dilution, and for good reason, as Peter was then placed under the effects of the potion.

“So you...you double cursed Peter. You didn’t mean to but, you put Peter under _another_ curse in an essence.”

“Unknowingly, I had. I’m sure you’ve just figured out that it was my anxiety over whether or not I diluted it enough to keep those side effects from happening. ”

“All this time we thought- Wong we need to find a cure for it. _Immediately._ It could still be in effect right now, and probably make him sicker.”

They shifted gears, then, searching now not for the cure for the Ninik, but for the thing designed to help.

Back in the Dark Dimension, standing strong and unmoving before her uncle and her mother with Peter on her side, Clea shouted her request at them both.

“Dormammu, Umar! Release this boy of your curse!”

There was a silence, then a loud, unearthly laughter from the king.

“What curse! I’ve never seen this child in my life!” He waved his hand, dismissing her words, “Leave me, or else you’ll regret it!”

“I refuse! Your cursed book- that Ninik of yours- has latched itself to this human child!” She pointed to him, Peter not even conscious anymore, was only being kept upright because of her grip on his waist, “Look at him! He’s dying!”

Dormammu shrugged, “And let him! If he was using the Ninik, then he’s a fool who deserves to die, my dear niece!”

“But he’s just a child!”

“A _foolish_ child!” He countered, and then banished her and the unconscious Peter from the throne room, trapping them in a dark space, another room somewhere in the building, where the windows were barred, and the walls were undecorated and covered in dirt and dust. She went to her knees, laying Peter over her lap, and cradled him in her arms. She regretted her part in all this, the initial stealing of the book and her idiotic forgetfulness. She regretted being the cause for all this strife the teen was going through, but she also felt bitter and dumb for allowing her emotions dictate how she went about helping a child she never met before. Peter breathed hard, releasing a large gust of air from his mouth, and his chest sunk, his heartbeat went slow, slower than it ever had, and then he shuddered violently.

She quickly put her hand onto his chest, feeling around for the telltale sign of life, but struggled to feel it through the material of his shirt. Panic set in, and she quickly began to think of what to do, how to get out of this room and convince Dormammu to relieve him. Just then, walking out from a shadowed corner, appeared Umar, her eyes hard on the figure of her daughter and the boy in her arms. She approached them, heels clicking on the stone floor, which attracted Clea’s attention to the woman behind her.

“That boy, is he yours?”

Clea shook her head. “A friend of a friends’.”

“That husband of yours has friends? Shocking.” Umar stood above Clea, who cringed at the word ‘husband’, “It wouldn’t happen to be my precious paperweight’s, would it? That would be devastating.”

“Banner has no children, Umar. This is the son of Mr. Tony,” She turned fully to Umar, bringing her brows together, and putting on a face of desperation, her large eyes pleading,“Umar, Queen of this dimension and my mother, will you convince him? For the sake of my soul and his own?”

Umar didn’t respond, craning to see Peter. His skin grayed, his lips blue. It was obvious that Clea was trying her best to keep him alive, but it was just barely enough.

“What will you give us in return if he lifts it? Hm?”

Without thinking, her heart soaring, “Whatever you like- so long as it’s reasonable!”

Umar stepped back, lifting her chin, looking fine and regal. “Very well,” she responded with a devious smile, and stepped back into the shadows, returning to the throne room that she shared with her brother, ignoring his attempts to get her to laugh as she walked to a window overlooking the miles of scattered homes on the island. Finding that his amusement was not equally received by his sister, he questioned her silence and lack of enjoyment at the seemingly funny event that had transpired.

“Why are you quiet, Umar?”

“You must lift the curse.”

"What? Why should I? Because she is your child? Or because you have grown weak?”

“Because,” She started pointedly, turning to stare at the being that was her brother out the corner of her eye, “think of the reward we will receive. We help her and that child, then she will be indebted to us.”

He thought on it, rubbing his chin in thought, “I suppose so…”

“And because of this debt, she will owe us a great service, as you will be curing the dead.” Umar approached him, “Clea will have no choice but to leave us be for a while as payment, and in that time, who’s to stop us?”

Dormammu was silent, thinking on how true Umar spoke and how Clea would be so malleable that she’d fall into such an agreement.

“Fine then. I’ll lift it and that will be that.”

So, he called Clea forth from her solitude in that room somewhere, and with an annoyed sigh and a swipe of his hand, he quite literally whisked the deadly sickness from Peter. The color returned to his cheeks, and his heart returned to its lively beating- he was fully cured and safe yet again, as though he were never on his deathbed at all.

But Clea had little time to rejoice, as when the curse was lifted, the few seconds left of Peter’s body returning to its healthy state, the boy’s body went up in a plume of pink smoke that took them by surprise.

And when the smoke cleared, Peter was once again not himself, instead, falling into her hands, was a large spider that scurried around in her palms.

“I said to cure him!”

“And I did!” He shouted at the upset sorceress. She pouted, forming a tiny clear box around the spider, and then shouted for him to turn him back into a human. But that was not Dormammu’s area of concern, and he promptly refused. He did what he was asked and would do no more than what he already unwillingly had done, and so banished the two back to earth. They tumbled out of the portal, landing hard on a grassy field, the box holding Peter’s spider form tumbling down and landing next to her. She dusted herself off and grabbed the box, taking a quick look at him.

Peter was large and gray, his legs long and stubby, covered in hair all over and his back had a large bright blue blotch that and a thick line from the spot to his spinnerets. She thought he looked a bit cute as a fluffed up little spider, but she knew that she had to fix this problem as well.

At least he wasn’t dying.

“Alright Peter, we are going to fix this. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?! I’m an actual spider! I’m _really_ spiderman!” He responded worriedly, palps covering his eyes, “Dad’s gonna flip…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get Stephen to fix you and then you can go home.” She reassured him, putting the box under her arm and taking a look around to see where they had been thrown, and around them were people walking or jogging, and behind them, an old woman sat feeding birds, completely oblivious to the fact that they fell from the sky before her eyes. She didn’t recognize where they were, but Peter did, and happily exclaimed that they were in Central Park, not far from the sanctum.

That didn’t matter anyway, but it was easier on her magic as she didn’t need to portal far.

* * *

At the sanctum, Stephen and Wong were beyond exhausted. They had managed to whip up something of a cure, a pale-hued ball of sand that was vaguely reminiscent of a bath bomb, and were now resting amongst their scattered books and utensils, ingredients scattered all over the place- some spilled oils here, some chopped ginger there, and a whole mess of some bone powder that floated around in the air. Overall, they were successful in their newest endeavor, but couldn’t find the energy within themselves to get off the floor to clean their mess, let alone to bring the ball to the hospital.

After falling asleep and waking from his nap on the floor, Stephen lifted himself from the floor, pushing off the stray books that lay on him, and looked around the mess of a kitchen. He was groggy and his back and neck hurt from laying on the floor and resting his head on a small stack of books. He slowly rose from the floor, joints popping with each move, and used the counter as leverage to stand, his phone rang, buzzing on the far end of the counter. He grabbed it and tiredly answered.

“Hello?”

“Finally- where did you go? I’ve been looking all over.”

“I’m sure you have,” He saw the stovetop was still on and boiling a large pot of lavender smelling liquid, and turned the dial to shut it off, “Who’s this?”

“It’s Tony, Stephen. And I’m not only livid, but I’m also freaking out.”

“Why?” He sounded pained, pressing his had to his forehead and leaning onto the hard countertop, “Why are you freaking out?” He looked at the floor, a half-peeled orange sat by his foot. He picked it up and ate it while Tony talked.

“It’s Peter- he just _disappeared_. Well not disappeared but he just _pah_ , straight to a pile of dust-”

  
“What?”

“He turned to dirt. Clea said she was going to take him to get him some help, but she never did and- I took my eyes off him for a second after she left and _poof_ , he was gone.”

“You met Clea?”

“Y-yes, but that doesn’t matter, I don’t know what happened to Peter.”

“Oh gods,” he groaned, “you met my ex-wife..”

“Stephen! _Peter is dust_!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I just woke up.” he admitted, finishing the orange, “You should come to the sanctum and I’ll find out what happened to him, okay?’

“Oh I know you will, your life depends on it. I’m on my way.”

“Okay, okay-”

Clea emerged from her little hole in the universe and stepped out with Peter in hand, “Stephen! I have Peter!”, she called, stepping over and around the mess on the floor. In the kitchen, Stephen took the phone from his ear to listen to the sounds of his house, feeling as if he were called. He heard rustling on the floor, and up appeared Wong covered in powder and fruit juice, looking just as tired and confused as Stephen did.

She stepped over a pile of books, nearly tripping over a downed bottle of...something. She called for him again, and out of the kitchen and into the hall went them both, looking up and down the corridor for the woman who called them forth.

"You have him? Thank the gods, I thought this would be the end of me-" He moved to meet her halfway, but stopped short, looking around her for Peter, "where's Peter?"

"He's right here, Ninik curse free and safe-"

"I don't follow. Where is he?"

She pushed up the box, bringing it up to his face.

Peter waved shyly, "Hi, Mr. Strange.."

Stephen jumped, pointing at the box. "It just spoke."

"Oh so he _is_ speaking, for the longest time I was wondering if I were going mad."

"So it's just like we thought...I _double_ _cursed_ Peter!" Wong exclaimed, coming out more to see the creature up close, the spider slunk back a bit.

"That's good, well not _good,_ but at least we can fix this. Follow me."

* * *

When Tony arrived at the building, and he had taken the drive to relax his nerves a bit, not quite back to the level of "I'm totally not angry" but that was a start. He thought that maybe he was really hard on Stephen earlier and that he should apologize for treating him like that.

Then he remembered that he kept such a secret from him for _weeks_ , so he deaded that apology just as quickly as it came.

He found a parking spot a short walk to the to the front door, but he braved through the cold of New York for a few meager steps before he either lost his mind or died from a joy-induced heart attack.

Upstairs, the wizards were situated in the bathroom, they drew a bath for the spider and dropped the magical, pseudo bath bomb into the hot water, where it sizzled and bubbled, releasing an aroma that smelled like a mixture of pomegranate and apples and turned the once opaque water a candy red with dull orange bubbles.

"So you just...drop me in there?" Peter asked nervously, he was currently only a spider and not at all large enough to _not_ drown in the bathtub. Stephen held the box firmly and opened the top latch, reaching his hand inside, letting the spider-boy crawl into his palm.

"I'm afraid so. You won't drown, I promise you."

"You promise a lot, doc."

He brought Peter to the tub, holding his hand just above the surface, enough to feel the heat of the steam and smell the strong apple scent. Peter was nervous of the water, fearing that he would surely sink as soon as he touched it, but with the sound of heavy knocking at the door echoing through the halls, Stephen found that if Peter didn't well up the courage to jump in, he'd be left with no choice but to stuff him in himself.

"Steph, Wong, it's Tony, where are you guys?"

They all looked around, Wong shouted that they were in the upstairs bathroom, much to Stephen's chagrin.

"Peter, we need to hurry this along."

"I'm scared, I don't want to drown, man.."

"Peter, I promise you that you won't drown, please just jump in."

"I can't dude, I'm scared!"  
"Why? It's water!"

"I'm a _spider!"_

"Yes we know, that's why you need to get in the water!"

"Can we do something else?"

"No!"

Tony heard them from the hall, the sound of Peter's voice filled him with wild hope, something that warmed his cheeks and made his heart thud in his chest. He sprinted up the stairs and half jogged down the carpeted path that would lead him to his son.

Where Tony was now greatly excited to know that Peter was alive, Stephen and the other two were anxiously trying to coax the spider to get into the water. When they caught wind of the oncoming footsteps, Stephen suddenly flipped his hand in an attempt to drop Peter into the red liquid, but Peter spooked, sticking to his hand and refusing to drop. When Stephen unceremoniously flicked his hand, Peter webbed on his hand and flung to the tiled wall that the tub rested on. He went to grab him, launching himself over the pink brine, with only his unwebbed hand on the wet porcelain of the tub, and slipped forward, accidentally causing him to land into the water. Clea finched at the splash that landed on her, and Wong kept his distance, the both of them watching the sorcerer wrestle with a large talking spider.

In the process of him falling forward a second time, Stephen managed to cup his hand around Peter's form, and gently closed his fingers enough to crane the spider, and held him in his hand. Peter hadn't hit the water with Stephen, but Stephen made sure that Peter wouldn't run again, holding him firm in his hand. The spider shrieked when Stephen held him, loudly protesting being manhandled in such a way. Tony had heard all the noise from the stairs and quickly made his way there double time, the sounds of his shoes in the hall put Stephen into a panic, and right before Tony reached the door, Stephen dunked the spider into the water.

Tony opened the bathroom door and was met with a strange sight: Clea was facing away from the bath, her hands folded behind her and her face a light red, Wong on the other side of the room was wiping uselessly at his clothes, trying to prevent the red from staining. Stephen was drying his hands with a hand towel, sitting on the edge of the tub. The floor was covered in pink puddles, and there was the heavy scent of apple hanging around.

"Hey, Tony." Stephen said exhaustedly, using the towel to pat at his cheek.

Tony didn't move from the door, stuck in shock at the state of the bathroom. "I heard Peter."

"Yeah, you did." He moved from the bath, revealing a (slightly) pink stained Peter sitting drenched in the bath, a look of pure confusion on his face. When he noticed he was on display, he waved meekly at his father.

"Hey, Dad..."

"Peter," He ran towards the tub and went to his knees to hug the newly transformed boy, not caring about the bathwater seeping into his clothes and staining them, not caring about the fact that Peter himself took on the slight hue of a deep blush. all he cared about at that moment, was the fact that his son was safe, alive, and back into his arms.

Peter patted his back, then mouthed to Stephen and Clea: _"Should we tell him?"_

They shook their heads.

Tony didn't need to know about all the spider stuff, that was useless information. He also didn't need to know about the fact that two of the most powerful beings in the Dark Dimension were up to no good because of his son and all that other junk. What he needed to know, he found out, and that was that.

When Tony finally let him go, he sat on the tub's edge like Stephen had before, and spoke to everyone in the room.

"Clea, thank you for helping him."

She nodded in response. He looked at Wong.

"Thanks to you too."

Then he made it to Stephen, straightening his back and setting his jaw.

"Stephen you're sleeping on the couch until you can't remember what a bed looks like, and you," he turned, pointing to Peter, "you're grounded. _Double_ grounded. I love you and I'm glad you're safe, but you're totally grounded, young man."

“Isn’t what I went through punishment enough?” The teen countered. Tony wasn't finished.

"Oh, and by the way, Peter, Sucress called." Peter deflated. He didn't want to think about that either. " He said that the school is up and ready for students come January _first_. And don't make any summer plans, either, school is going to be _very_ busy for you in June."

Peter wanted to drown.

* * *

At the end of it all, many, many things came about from the ordeal, and everyone involved learned very valuable lessons.

Well, not _eveyone_ involved, but you know, the people who really needed to learn a lesson.

Peter learned that maybe stealing books from a place full of strange magic just because you wanted to isn't right. Stephen learned that he should really childproof the sanctum (or maybe spiderproof it?), and Wong learned that you should never mix and match potions- it's bad news.

And that is that on that.

**End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna die man i hate writing endings.


End file.
